


The Bespoke Witch

by BespokeAffinity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Magic, Fluff and Humor, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Magical Contract, Multi-marriage, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Tradition, Ron Weasley Bashing, world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 78
Words: 373,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25516756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BespokeAffinity/pseuds/BespokeAffinity
Summary: Hermione is offered a war-stake by Dumbledore.  She ignorantly accepts the beautiful scroll, only to find she has thereby agreed to become Wife to the House of Malfoy.  An on the go education by Minerva, Molly, and Astoria ensues as Hermione enters formal courtship by Draco and Lucius.  Utterly absurd and just a tad naughty.  AU, OOC.
Relationships: Fleur/Bill/Charlie/Percy, Harry/Ginny/Luna, hermione/draco/lucius
Comments: 385
Kudos: 601





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a light world-building fic that perhaps borders on crack (if you squint). Basically, I had a lot of fun exploiting the obvious character flaws of each character in the fic as well as any potential thereof. Hermione as a realistic human in love? Cue the hubris and swooning! Draco? Let's make him adorkable! And as for Lucius . . . let's make him a cuddler ;)
> 
> If you're looking for a light, fluffy read with everything going on, I have you covered.  
> Originally posted on Granger Enchanted and Fanfic, then my own website, and now available here on AO3 for easy downloading and sharing.  
> Now we don't need to figure out how to create an epub ;)
> 
> Hi, I'm Glitterally and this is BW. Yes, this is an AU (let's call it the Bespoke AU). Yes, the characters are OOC. It's fanfic.

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

The late spring of their second seventh year promised to be the most beautiful they could remember in their time at Hogwarts. It seemed that the sun shone from morning to evening every day, and the rain rarely fell before curfew each night. Birdsong filled the air, students spilled out over the lawns and gardens each afternoon, and flowers bloomed in riotous color everywhere, drawing attention away from the war-ravaged castle. Even the shy giant squid made near-daily appearances.

The wizarding world was working at healing itself after the defeat of Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. The remaining Death Eaters had been rounded up, tried and sentenced. Unknown heroes were brought to light, and the unfortunate ones like Severus Snape were decorated posthumously. The machinations of those in the greatest positions of power might never be fully known by the everyday witch and wizard, but they were accepted unquestioningly as necessary for the triumph of good. In the end, the Wizengamot had extended full pardons to several powerful families with former ties to the Dark Lord; this, too, was found acceptable by the magical population of England, and so the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his son were welcomed back into the good graces of society without so much as the blink of an eye. It had helped, in their case, that they had been secretly working against Voldemort from the start of the second war and had openly denounced him towards its end, striving to defeat him and his followers. Wizarding England positively swooned over dark, misunderstood secret agents of the light.

The Boy Who Lived and his illustrious friends had turned away from anything touched by the war. The three declined the offers of jobs and honorary diplomas, opting to earn them instead with one last half-year of age-appropriate work. They, along with the many students who had fled Hogwarts last year, wanted to make their last memories of school as happy as possible. 

Hermione surprised everyone, herself included, by choosing a less-than exhausting academic schedule. For the first time in her nineteen years, she wanted something other than books to read and papers to write. She wanted time with friends. Most of all, she wanted time to flop back on her bed and stare at the ceiling if she chose.

The experience so far had been exhilarating; she’d never dreamed that being an ordinary student could be so freeing. There was only one thing that could have made the year perfect -- sharing her new outlook on life with her parents; but they had been lost to her forever. The memory spell she had used to help hide them had proven successful, and she had guided them lovingly towards their new life in Australia. Their house had been sold, the furniture and household boxes shipped, and they had boarded their flight. Hermione had been in hiding from Death Eaters when news of the plane’s crash reached her via Muggle newspaper clipping. Her parents had never reached Australia, and she hadn’t saved them after all. In the end, she followed Harry’s example, and lived with determination and a firmly lifted chin. It helped to have the love and support of the Weasleys and Harry, as well as the high expectations of Professor McGonagall.

The second chance at their seventh year had given Hermione and her peer’s one last chance to reconcile past grievances. Professor Dumbledore had specifically called upon Harry to set an example of forgiveness and support, and then he had addressed the student body as a whole. Harry took the Headmaster’s words to heart and worked to overcome his prejudices. 

Ron was disappointed at first, until Hermione pointed out that it was actually a sign that Harry was growing up. At that point, Ron had stomped off to sulk for a long while, and when he finally returned, it became obvious that he had decided to grow up as well. Slowly, fighting dwindled until it was infrequent. Slowly, vicious remarks and shoving in the hallways gave way to (at first) teasing and (a bit later) study groups.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were in that enviable part of every scholar’s final year -- the time after all the important tests have been given, but before the academic year was complete. For a few brief weeks, their concentration was demanded only to fit more friends and antics into each day. That, and, for Hermione, the need to finish up her List of Books to Read in the Near Future, accumulated with the aid of her professors and Madame Pince. The boys rolled their eyes in a good-natured way whenever she stopped to add to it; she was Hermione, after all, and this was just one of those maddening yet oddly endearing things about her.

Hermione was still a bit in love with Ron, although he still hadn’t pursued anything more than friendship with her. Once every so often he’d grab her hand and hold it for a few moments, all the while smiling sweetly at her. It would keep her going for weeks, and when its effect began to wear off and she began to get restless, he would do it all over again. If she hadn’t known him for so long, she would have suspected he was effectively peeing on her leg to keep other boys away and her uninterested in anyone else. But Ron had never been that subtle, nor much of a strategist outside of wizard’s chess. No, he was her Ron and it was all but written in the stars that they would end up together. Someday.

The boys were slowly growing apart from her, though, Ron especially. He had begun to split his time between his friends and the various witches he sneaked to his room after successful Quidditch matches (he was under the mistaken assumption that Hermione hadn’t noticed). When he did forget that he wanted to keep the girls a secret from Hermione and was caught snuggling with them in the common room at night, he would always smile at her in the way that made her forget everything and then say something like, “I just feel like such a lost soul right now, ‘Mione. I need time to figure myself out.”

Harry’s official role as head peacekeeper at Hogwarts meant that he was now friends with practically everybody, and that everybody was friends with him; especially the witches. Without the need to lead a crusade any longer, he was putting all his previously war-related skills to use in the sexual arena. Basically, he spent the majority of his time rutting like a young buck. Sex in the alcove behind the suit of armor on the main floor _during passing time between 3rd and 4th hour_ classes _?_ Done. 

Sex under the Whomping Willow in broad daylight after classes were done for the day? Done (he’d dodged the branches until he’d pressed the small knot at the tree’s base, then lured his partner in). Sex on the stairs to the Headmaster’s office? Done… _often_. 

He made no apologies, and was so good-natured that Hermione couldn’t find it in her heart to judge him. After all, he’d had a horrible childhood, battled an evil wizard for years, and now he was finally free to be whomever he chose. And do it _with_ whomever he chose. It had occurred to her that Witch Weekly would have a field day with him once he left the privacy of Hogwarts.

There were house parties to attend as well -- and in the interests of unity after the war, these parties were now open to all students who were fifth year or above. The Gryffindor party had been a few weeks earlier; it would probably live in infamy for years to come. The Firewhiskey had flowed, generously gifted by Harry, and as a result Ron had lit the end of his broomstick on fire and flown it around the common room a bit too close to the hanging tapestries. With the upper part of the room in flames and most of the attending students too inebriated to do anything but laugh hysterically, there had been nothing to do but move the party to the outer hallway. Here, the large group had come face to face with Harry, Ginny, and Luna, each bare from the waist up and wrapped around the other two in a way that gave no room for misinterpretation. When he became aware of the audience (it took more than a few seconds), Harry released his mouth from around Ginny’s nipple with a loud, wet smacking sound and gave a sheepish smile, but his hands never broke their grip of Luna’s breasts. It was a moment when it was good to be Harry Potter -- no one else would ever have lived it down, but he managed to accrue even more worshippers _and_ keep the girls. Both seemed very happy with the arrangement, as did he.

Hermione herself had left that party early on. She had attempted to have her first taste of Firewhiskey, but it had been sternly taken from her grasp by Draco Malfoy. It seemed to her that Draco had spent the greater part of the evening foiling any chance of her having fun. Dancing with her friends? He had suddenly acquired a penchant for finger sandwiches, of which the buffet had run out. Trying to catch Ron’s eye in the hopes that this might be _the night_ \-- the one when they finally declared their feelings for each other and sealed their new relationship with her first kiss? Draco had interrupted each of her attempts to flirt with Ron, each time needing something which required her to Floo to the kitchens for more food. She would have been furious, but Malfoy had been nothing less than kind and courteous each time. Instead, she had swallowed her disappointment and found sanctuary in the library. 

During her time of quiet reflection (because she certainly hadn’t been able to read anything after the image of Ron devouring Lisa Turpin’s face had been burned into her mind), it had occurred to her that a good portion of her possible fun had been foiled by Draco Malfoy since first year. He had steered clear of her in all ways except to _foil fun_ on a regular basis. Perhaps it was a pureblood thing. Hermione contemplated the idea of making a small Draco voodoo doll.

Today Hermione felt unusually optimistic about her immediate future. She loved her classes, she and Harry (and, therefore, Ginny and Luna) had made plans to study together later, and the weekend was fast approaching. In years past, she had hated the idea of her brain stagnating for two days and had worked to fill Saturdays and Sundays with self-made lessons. Only now, in the spring of her final year, was she coming to realize the bliss of two days filled with nothing but the pursuit of pleasure and clean laundry. Those things and _parties_.

This upcoming Saturday night would be yet another Slytherin party. Honestly, those students had more money than they knew how to use! Hermione was looking forward to it for two reasons. Firstly, she had been dragged shopping by Ginny and Luna and had found a distinctly _un-Hermione-like_ dress which was begging to be worn. It was dark green and a bit daring, and when she put it on, she felt the same way she had at the Yule Ball in fourth year. Secondly, she was looking forward to giving Malfoy a taste of his own medicine. Hermione had worked out at least seven strategies to keep him from having fun at his own party! Perhaps she should have counted a third reason for wanting to go to the dance, but somewhere in between her new dress and the idea of banishing all fun from Draco’s night, her usual daydreams of Ron sweeping her off her feet were forgotten.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday

Hermione walked quickly towards the staircase leading to the Headmaster’s office, her heavy book bag bumping against her side awkwardly. At some point after she had received her summons, she had wrapped an arm around the bag in an attempt to keep it from swinging quite so wildly (and of course she had been at the opposite end of the castle when the note had popped out of thin air and dropped into her lap). Now, as the staircase and her destination loomed in sight, she finally unclenched the taut muscles of her aching arm. Shaking it out, she uttered the password to Professor Dumbledore’s inner sanctum. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea after all to pack so much extra reading material into her bag this morning, but her plan had been to sneak away from the boys after their last class and find a sunny reading spot near the lake.

At the top of the staircase, she paused outside the half-closed door. What on earth was so important that Professor Dumbledore himself had sent a summons -- and in the middle of the school day, no less! No one, not even Harry (and not even in the midst of the war) had ever been summoned in such a way before. The Headmaster must have been awaiting her arrival, and he called out for her to enter.

“Ah, Miss Granger! Please, please -- come in, won’t you?” He was twinkling at her in his most engaging way, and as usual it completely disarmed Hermione. His kind, gentlemanly manner always made her think of an elderly uncle -- her favorite sort of relative, who waited to hear your answer when he asked how you had been, and seemed fascinated by all your ramblings. The briefest of thoughts crossed her mind, and for an instant in her mind’s eye she saw him as a young, courtly wizard. The idea made her blush. Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore was occupied with pulling out a chair for her, and missed this.

“Here we are, my dear -- sit, sit! And we shall have tea! Would you be so kind as to pour for us? Oh, look, they’ve sent up my favorite cake. Lovely.” He fussed over the tea tray, and then sat down in a chair by her side.

Hermione served the tea and cake, and there was silence except for the sounds of sipping and forks tinging against china plates. It was uncomfortable on her part; here she was, having been instructed to drop what she had been doing and run to this meeting without knowing the reason for doing so. The fact that the Headmaster had been so cheery, and had offered refreshments seemed to weigh in favor of a pleasant reason, but Hermione guessed that Dumbledore would have been equally cheery and still have served tea had he arranged a meeting with known Death Eaters during the height of the war.

When she could stand it no longer (it had to have been ten agonizing minutes by now), she addressed the Headmaster.

“Sir, is there something I should know? I only mean that you must have a reason for my being here, taking up your time. Is there something I can help w--” 

“Patience, Miss Granger!” More twinkling. “We await the arrival of your head of house, who should be just coming up the staircase now. Ah, Minerva! Impeccable timing as always.” 

Professor McGonagall swept into the cluttered space, greeting Hermione in the familiar way she had adopted in the past year, but her eyes stayed fixed on the girl’s face for longer than strictly necessary. Hermione, whose life revolved around lists and notes, made a mental note of it. That, and the excessive twinkling coming from the Headmaster. She wondered what would make Professor McGonagall slightly nervous and also cause Dumbledore to feel the need to do the elderly-uncle flirting thing.

“Have a seat, please, Minerva. Miss Granger and I were just enjoying a cup of some very nice Oolong. You must have some. Perhaps I could impose on you to refill my cup, my dear?” McGonagall sat down in a chair to Hermione’s other side and took the cup proffered by the girl. 

_How curious_ , thought Hermione, _that we’re sitting in a line. No direct eye contact at all_. The Headmaster was speaking again in between sips of tea.

“Excellent. What excellent tea! A gift from an old friend . . . let’s see, where did he procure it? Some place in the Orient, of course . . .” _What was he on about? Really? the TEA?_ Hermione was becoming more curious as to the nature of this meeting by the second.

Now Professor McGonagall was filling in the silence that hovered at the edges of Dumbledore’s inanity. “Once again I must congratulate you on your success at Hogwarts, my dear. You lived up to each of my high expectations of you. I look forward to following your career. Have you given thought to what--”

Here the head of Gryffindor house was cut off by the sound of a throat being cleared. Oddly, it didn’t quite fit the voices of either person beside her (and if Hermione had not been trying to figure out exactly what was going on at the moment, she would have noticed). Both of them jumped slightly, and McGonagall quickly rerouted her conversation.

“Of course, you must be wondering what you’re doing here, being chatted up by the two of us. Albus, would you . . .?”

“Of course, of course. Miss Granger, I hope you will forgive the ramblings of . . .” (Here he paused to set down his teacup) “. . . an old man. Aaah. But tea does make everything just a bit better, don’t you agree? I have some news to share with you. Let us start with this.”

The Headmaster reached into his robes and retrieved a scroll of parchment tied with a green ribbon.

Even sealed, she could see that it was singularly beautiful, and Hermione’s love for all things paper or parchment filled her with a sudden desire to know what sorts of things were written inside. 

“What is it, sir?” Her hand reached out for it involuntarily; she stopped herself at the last moment.

He turned to look at her for a moment, a question on his face, before answering softly, “A war-stake, my dear. For you. Do you accept it?” 

Mesmerized, Hermione reached out and took the lovely scroll from the Headmaster. She felt strong magic rolling from the paper into her body, and was delighted by the sensation. She turned back to Dumbledore, still confused.

“Yes, thank you. It’s lovely! I’m sorry, a -- what? What is it?” 

Her tone was apologetic; she didn’t often find herself in a situation where she was completely ignorant, even in the wizarding world. She wondered if it was rooted in some Pureblood tradition, and the knowledge of it thereby (until now) inaccessible to her.

“A war-stake, dear. Yours now that you have accepted it. Do you not know what one is, Hermione?” Professor McGonagall’s voice was as soft as the Headmaster’s had been just moments before. At first the young witch thought they were speaking in funereal tones, until it occurred to her that they sounded awed, not sorrowful. So . . . a war-stake was something that evoked reverence in Albus Dumbledore? Hermione wanted to know more _immediately_.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. May I assume that’s because it’s a Pureblood thing, Professors?”

Professor McGonagall shared an uneasy glance with Dumbledore, but because of the seating arrangement Hermione was unaware of this.

“Yes, that’s right! Well done, Miss Granger. It’s an ancient tradition dating back to a time when magic was at its most elemental. We have no data that supports the existence of Muggleborns at that point in history, and so many scholars of magic believe that there simply weren’t any. Magic seems to have been contained within specific families, many of whom are still extant. In fact, some of your peers come from these families.”

None of this was new to Hermione, but she realized that the Headmaster was building a base on which to raise his explanation. He was very good at it, and that made the redundancy rather enjoyable, anyway.

“These families built alliances with each other. They fought side by side in wars, both in the magic and the Muggle worlds. Some alliances were short-term, and others were formed permanently. Many times the nature of these agreements between families had more to do with the families’ covenants than any specific situation.”

“I beg your pardon, but what is a covenant, sir?”

“Excellent question . . . a very secret, very potent magical binding that was done at the inception of a new magical family in ancient times. Of course, one wasn’t done at every wedding, but they did occur when an extremely powerful wizard bound himself to the daughter of another very powerful wizard.”

“But sir, what exactly does one of these covenants contain?”

“Hmmmm . . . heavy layers of both light and dark magic -- now, don’t misunderstand that phrase, my dear. Dark magic has been used for wrongdoing for so long that its original state has been forgotten by most. It is, quite simply, magic so ancient and robust that it does not allow itself to be controlled very well.”

“You speak of it as though it’s sentient, sir.”

“Often it is, Miss Granger. Back to the ancient covenants: they were woven with heavy layers of the magics and used as both protection and weaponry by their families. They are fascinating to study, but unfortunately because of the very secrecy of their nature, the only covenant one is ever able to know is one’s own. And then only if one is a Pureblood.”

“I feel as though there must be several more layers to your explanation, sir. I’m still confused about the relevance of this war-stake.”

“All right, let us add the next layer, then. The ancient covenants were created, the families employed the powers of the covenants, and they also had to live by them. Each covenant was slightly different, and while some were complex, others seem to have been surprisingly simple. Some tend to be made of darker stuff than others, too. The success and survival of the family depended on their obedience to their covenant. Interestingly enough, some covenants are sentient enough to communicate important information to their respective families! Others impose order through the meting out of curses and other harsh consequences of disobedience. Most require the potential wives of their houses to meet certain requirements.”

“That seems awfully archaic, sir! Do you mean that even today, pureblood wizards follow these covenants in their relationships?”

“Absolutely, my dear. The covenant of the family dictates much.”

Hermione was incensed at the idea that a piece of paper could control such personal parts of any person’s life. “You have _got_ to be kidding me! So it doesn’t matter who you like -- it all boils down to what the piece of paper -- this _covenant_ \-- says!”

“Oh, I seem to have led you astray, dear girl. The covenants were never written down, and they do not exist in any visible way. They were _ingrained_ into the families at their very start -- in their very bloodline. It is as much a part of them as any vital organ, and they have no desire to fight against it.”

She was at a loss, which happened infrequently to her. “Are we talking about instinct here? Or are you actually saying that these old Pureblood families tapped into an ancient power source that controls the decisions of everyone in that bloodline?”

“Very nearly almost. The families made an alliance with an ancient power source, yes. The ancient source still controls the destiny of these families. However, there is no malevolence involved. The covenants wish to continue their own existence as well as prosper the families to which they are tied. It is a symbiotic relationship, and a very elegant one.”

Hermione turned to look him straight in the eye. “And does your family have a covenant, sir?”

The Headmaster shook his head with a smile. “The Dumbledore family has a very long and proud half-blood history.”

“What about you, Professor McGonagall?”

“Oh, my dear, I’m afraid we don’t go back that far, although my late husband’s family did long ago,” her head of house replied.

“So, in summary, the ancient covenants are very secret and powerful, and when obeyed or followed they help ensure the success of a bloodline. Am I correct?” Hermione asked Dumbledore.

“Yes, I think that is as correct a short answer as can be given.” 

The Headmaster looked pleased and began to rise from his seat when Hermione asked, “But what does a covenant have to do with a war-stake, sir?”

She was more confused than ever. Exactly what was this meeting about? What was this parchment in her hand, and how did it even remotely fit into the history lesson she had just received?

The Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged another look over Hermione’s bent head. At the moment she was staring at the scroll in her hands with fascination. It had begun to glow slightly.

“You really do not know . . .? I’m quite sure there was a definitive section in _Hogwarts: a History_!”

“Oh, sir, if there had been I would know -- it’s one of my favorite textbooks, and I’ve read it countless times front to back!”

The Headmaster sat back down in his seat, looking warily around the room. Hermione had turned her chair so that she could keep both eyes on him, and it was making him uneasy. _How could she not know this? Why had she taken the scroll from him in the first place, and why-oh-why had it already begun to glow? Surely it would not mistake her ignorant taking of the war-stake for actual acceptance?_ He turned his gaze back to meet Hermione’s own, and began again.

“A war-stake, my dear, is as old as the ancient covenants . . . ”

_Yes, yes, we’ve established that!_ Hermione thought impatiently. She took a deep cleansing breath and settled down for another layer of explanation.

“ . . . simply because war dates back to the dawn of time. Alliances have always been the backbone of successful armies, and they have been made for reasons too varied to list completely. However, marriage is certainly one. In the wizarding world, many families have joined alliances simply for the chance to pursue a bespoke witch . . . ”

“Errrr, what’s a bespoke witch?”

“One seemingly made to order for a certain family’s covenant. It has been proven in several fascinating studies that a pureblood wizard’s covenant will actually direct him to his bespoke witch.”

“All right, so alliances made for bespoke witches--”

“Alliances made for the _chance to pursue_ a bespoke witch. Never forget that the witch doesn’t have to accept pursuit.”

“So, how does the war-stake fit in?”

“At any time in a battle or war, interested parties may make an alliance and cast a war-stake. It is not just a declaration of intent. If accepted by the potential war ally, a war-stake then becomes a legally binding agreement between the two parties. If their joint venture is a success, the family who cast the stake in the first place will send it to the bespoke witch. If she accepts it, she becomes the Wife of that House.”

Hermione looked at the parchment scroll in her hand, running her finger along the silky ribbon that tied it shut. The magic purred under the movements of her fingers.

“So _this_ is an actual war-stake. How fascinating! Is it original, or a facsimile? Do we know who cast the original stake? To whom was it sent? I have so many questions!”

Professor McGonagall reached across the arm of her chair and touched the young witch’s sleeve lightly, catching her attention. “Hermione, dear. You do realize that war-stakes are still cast? Indeed, many pureblood wizards cast stakes in this last war. Among the old houses it is still a common practice.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! This last war? What kind of alliances were made to make them binding?”

It was Dumbledore’s turn again. “The sort of alliances necessary to win a war between the forces of good and evil -- pureblood families with powerful covenants came to our side and cast war-stakes at many points in the war. This was one of them. I accepted this one on behalf of our side. It was a powerful alliance that tipped the scales in our favor.”

The Headmaster was looking at the scroll in Hermione’s hands, and her eyes were also drawn to it. It glowed faintly in her hands, and the magic still danced between her and its paper. _How romantic,_ _that someone would have a feeling that someone else was The One, and state their intentions in a binding agreement. To offer their lives in exchange for the hope of acceptance!_

As these thoughts ran through her head, it occurred to her that she might be feeling the influence of the scroll’s magic. Still, the thoughts were appealing to her idealistic Gryffindor mind. She decided that, if she were being influenced then at least the magic felt pure, and light.

“But to whom was it sent? Surely these kinds of things aren’t passed around like a newspaper, are they?”

Suddenly, the Headmaster’s eyes pinned Hermione with a look that seemed to scream _prepare yourself_. 

“It was sent to you for acceptance this morning by the House of Malfoy.”

Professor McGonagall’s hand was on Hermione’s sleeve again in a comforting way. Suddenly comprehension dawned across the young witch’s face.

“And I accepted it. I . . . I have to leave.” With that, she gently laid down the war-stake and fled the room. Her footsteps could be heard clattering down the stairs to the castle hall.

Dumbledore rubbed his hands together in an anxious manner. _What had just happened? Was it accepted or not?_ _How would he face the two men listening on the other side of the closest tapestry?_

Professor McGonagall stood to leave. 

“Minerva, wait! What are we to do?!”

“Oh Albus, she’s a Gryffindor. She’ll be waiting for me in my office when I get there, and we’ll have a long talk about destiny and opportunities and _honor_. She accepted it, and it accepted her. It’ll all work out, you’ll see. In the meantime (here she glanced meaningfully at the tapestry in question), good luck.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

The rest of Thursday, and then Friday

  
  


Hermione’s mind raced far faster than her feet as she raced through the castle halls. The plot that had sounded so romantic just a while ago now tolled in her ears like a death bell. Why had someone placed a stake on her? Why the Malfoys? She had barely spoken to Draco over the years and only met his father once during the war. It wasn’t a good memory, although it certainly wasn’t the worst. What about her could make her desirable to the Malfoy covenant? Didn’t her blood status exclude her from this whole mess?

She thought about the beautiful war-stake again. It had glowed and pulsated, and  _ smelled divine _ .  _ Great Merlin _ \-- she wanted to be enveloped by that scent! It was subtle and heavy and masculine and mouth-watering.

Hermione’s mind flashed back to the second the summons had popped out of thin air and landed in her lap. Luckily it had occurred at the beginning of Potions class, during the lecture and note-taking part. Had it appeared much later, it might have dropped into her cauldron and ruined the beautiful Amortentia she had been brewing all week. It should have been ready by the end of class today, and she hoped Professor Slughorn had bid some student bottle it for her. She’d spent much time guessing what it would smell like. She wondered if it would be all the things she liked about Ron -- the way he smelled of soap and clean, outdoor air, with just a hint of the oil from his broom kit. Now she thought that even her own Amortentia couldn’t possibly affect her the way the fragrance of the war-stake had.

After a short time, the young witch found that her feet had carried her to the chambers of Minerva McGonagall. This was fitting, since Hermione suddenly had more questions. Her professor hadn’t yet returned, and so the young witch sat down on the cold floor of the castle hallway to wait. Professor McGonagall had only one class this morning, and would undoubtedly return to her rooms before lunch. She should be appearing any moment.

In fact, Hermione waited an entire sixty seconds before being struck by an idea. It was one of those lightning-strike thoughts that cut through anything else she’d been thinking of previously and left no room for argument. This thought, plain and simple, was  _ I must go check my Amortentia. Now _ . She left a note for her professor and set off again. Within twenty minutes, Hermione had raced to the dungeons, collected her potion (which had indeed been bottled for her), and was on her way back. She arrived at Professor McGonagall’s door breathless and impatient at the same moment her teacher returned.

Five minutes later, Minerva McGonagall declared that Hermione’s potion had been well brewed -- it smelled exactly like the professor’s favorite whiskey. Hermione cautiously sniffed it, and gave a moan of unadulterated pleasure because the aroma of her Amortentia was in fact the same scent she remembered from the war-stake!  _ Heavy and subtle, and very, very masculine.  _ She told her professor, who smiled tenderly.

“Oh, my dear girl! It’s time we had a long talk about the ins and outs of being a bespoke witch.” And so they talked about all kinds of things Hermione had never known about because she was Muggle-born. She was shocked to find out that most of what she was just learning was common knowledge among her peers.

“But I’m a Muggle-born! Surely this excludes me from this whole . . . mess.”

“That makes no difference to some covenants. I’ll wager your eligibility came from the strength of your magic and intellect. And you’re a lovely girl. You’re quite a catch, you know.”

The young witch opened her mouth to frame another argument, but the professor interrupted her. “Hermione, you’ve accepted the stake, and by doing so altered what you yourself may have planned for your life. Don’t see this as a tragedy before you’ve thought about it from every angle! The way the stake’s magic responded to you, and the fact that its scent matches that of your Amortentia points toward destiny. I plan to help you do it, too. Help you think about it, that is -- not run away, lass!” 

Professor McGonagall continued this education of her favorite student. Some of the knowledge was shocking, and here Minerva went slowly. 

“First and foremost, you need to know that you’re already loved and desired. Wizards who cast stakes don’t do so impetuously. Their covenant won’t let them. You’ve been thought about for years, now.”

They ate chocolate cake and sipped at mulled brandy while they talked.

“But which Malfoy cast the stake?”

“Why, dear! They both did. That’s why Albus used the term ‘wife of the house’ when he talked about it earlier.”

“ _ Sweet Merlin _ ! What are you saying?! I’m to marry  _ both _ of them?!” Hermione laughed feebly. The sound stuck in her throat when she saw her professor’s face.

“Yes, you’re to marry both of them.”

“And . . . and be  _ lawfully wedded _ to both of them?”

“Of course. And yes, you will be bedded by both. Hopefully frequently!” At Hermione’s sharp intake of breath, Professor McGonagall tutted. “Hermione, they’re powerful, handsome men -- and according to Witch Weekly, the female population of magical England finds them highly desirable! Surely you’ve noticed that. You’ve gone to school with Draco for almost eight years! Imagine kissing two of him.”

Hermione’s shock prevented her from hearing anything else her favorite teacher had to say that night. She ended up falling asleep on the couch, and woke up the next morning to find herself covered in cozy blankets. The bottle of Amortentia was still sitting on the side table, and a smiling Minerva McGonagall was shaking her shoulder.

“Ah, good. I’m glad to see you awake. Please go and prepare yourself for the day, then report back here.”

One hour later she was back, processing still more new information about her predicament. “Wait -- you’re telling me I have to marry the House of Malfoy, as in two separate men, but that I am to be formally courted by way of chaperoned visits so as to protect my virtue and honor. What happens to my honor when the wizarding world finds out I’m a polygamist?!”

“Firstly, you must understand that this isn’t at all unusual in the magical world. In fact, most pureblood families follow this practice. Many of the students here at school come from homes where there is a House Wife. In fact, one of your peers will be marrying his now-step-mother when he turns eighteen in a few days.”

“That’s just -- ew!”

“Oh, it’s not nearly as ‘ew’ as it sounds. She’s nineteen and quite good-looking. The family covenant clearly saw her as the answer to their low birth rate, because she’s already had one set of twins since she married the patriarch of the family last year.”

“And how does my ‘peer’ feel about marrying a girl who’s not only been acting the role of his stepmother, but also  _ making babies with his dad _ ?!”

“Considering the fact that the boy’s carried a torch in his heart and a rod in his front pocket for her for years, not too badly. Hermione, I know this world is quite different from the one in which you were raised. That doesn’t make it wrong. May I make a conjecture?”

“Errr, yes, of course.”

“The covenant of Malfoy House wouldn’t have chosen you if you weren’t its bespoke witch. That covenant has prospered the Malfoys for over a thousand years, and now it wants to prosper you as well. Give it a chance. You’ll be given time to adjust to all this. Your wizards already understand this is all new to you. Besides, I highly doubt Lucius and Draco will drag you off against your will . . . right away.”

Hermione saw a brief mental image of Draco as a cave man with her thrown over his shoulder. As she shuddered at the thought, her professor uncorked the bottle of Amortentia under her nose and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Hermione’s shudder turned into one of pleasure as the unearthly fragrance assailed her senses. She fought the sensation and corralled her thoughts.

“So . . . because I ignorantly accepted what I _thought_ _to be_ an innocent scroll but what _turned out to be_ a marriage contract of sorts, I am now bound to marry -- wait, is this legally binding?”

“Yes, Hermione. And yes, you will be held responsible for your choice, ignorant as you were. My dear, the fact that your touch activated the stake’s magic is evidence to the fact that this was meant to be.”

The professor added, “I think it might help for you to hear from a House Wife. I’ll see what I can do. Now let’s dump that heavenly brew of yours before it causes unholy mischief.”

Their talk had lasted the entire morning, and they stopped only for a brief lunch brought by a house elf. Hermione didn’t go to any classes that day. In the afternoon, she was led by Minerva McGonagall to another meeting in the Headmaster’s office. The door was open again, and he bade them enter. Hermione’s eyes strayed to the war-stake, which remained where she had left it only the day before. Of its own accord, her body walked to the chair and collected the scroll, and then held it against her mouth as its scent filled her nostrils.

She sat meekly in her chair from yesterday and waited for what was to come. That turned out to be more information from Professor Dumbledore, as well as a plethora of questions (some of which were embarrassing). The last few were the worst.

“My dear girl, forgive me, but I must ask you the most important of the traditional questions of binding. Are you pure?”

“Y-y-yes!” Hermione spluttered as her face flamed.

“Splendid. And, Hermione, have you given your first kiss, or has it been taken from you?”

_ What a curious set of questions. Why is it that I am suddenly relieved not to have kissed Ron?  _ “No, sir.”

“Lastly, will you agree to the terms of formal courtship, if Minerva explains them to you?”

“Well, I won’t agree blindly to them, so perhaps Professor McGonagall should start explaining.”

At this the Headmaster smiled apologetically and muttered something about looking for Mr. Filch.  _ Oh, Merlin’s beard. What am I in for, now? _

In a nutshell, Hermione agreed (blushing the entire time) to abstain from the following during the courtship of the House of Malfoy: informally addressing any male besides Harry, who was to be considered her brother; spending individual time with male students other than Harry; accepting gifts from any male except Harry; venturing through the castle without an approved escort; wearing inappropriate clothing; being alone with either Malfoy without an approved chaperone; acting in any way that could dishonor her future family; and, best of all, touching herself in any way, shape, or form to provide sexual release. To make matters worse, she was required to take a magical oath. This was ostensibly for the protection of her virtue, but it felt controlling.  _ One thing’s for certain: I will be one virtuous little bride whether I like it or not. _

There was an owl waiting in her room when she went to change for dinner. Hermione wondered why it hadn’t handed its letter off to her at dinner, and then realized it must be something she wasn’t supposed to read in front of the other students. She panicked.  _ Sweet Circe, it’s from one of them. I can’t even-- _

The owl, impatient with her, dropped the letter and flew to the window, hooting at her until she opened it. There was a light rain falling outside; Hermione quickly closed the glass panel and locked the latch. She stared at the small piece of parchment on her bed and then finally crept closer to peek at the return address.  _ Molly Weasley. Wait-- what? Does she know? Is she angry? Of course she’s angry!  _ Hermione drew from her Gryffindor courage and quickly ripped open the letter.

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Minerva has just passed on the good news to us. Congratulations! Arthur and I couldn’t be happier for you, except, of course, if you had ended up as house witch to our family. Some of our boys did cast stakes for you. _

_ You must have so many questions, and I would be happy to talk with you whenever you like. I became wife to the House of Weasley right about your age. Minerva and Albus have agreed to allow me to Floo in to join your meetings with them. Perhaps hearing my point of view will help your understanding of this part of our world. _

_ Sweetheart, the Malfoy family  _ (here there were several smudges in a row, as if Mrs. Weasley couldn’t decide exactly how to describe the Malfoys)  _ is an ancient one, and therefore powerful. This is an excellent match for you! Honestly, I cannot think of another house worthy of such an intelligent, lovely young witch. _

_ Well, I will see you at tomorrow’s meeting. I believe we meet in Albus’ office at 10:00. _

_ Until then I hope you will keep your mind and heart open to this new part of your life. _

_ Molly _

Obviously, Molly was trying to reassure Hermione. However, the letter was like a can of worms -- once opened, there was a slithering mass of new information that needed to be processed immediately.  _ Molly is a House Wife? Who else is there besides Arthur? Some of the Weasley boys cast war stakes for me?  _ _ I think of them as brothers! It’s a good thing I have such a light course load – apparently it’s no longer anyone’s priority. _

Unfortunately, it was dinnertime. Not only did she need to eat, but Professor McGonagall wouldn’t be in her rooms. Sighing (something she had begun to do frequently in the past twenty-four hours), she dragged a brush through her tangled curls and went down to join the student body.

Draco was absent from dinner, much to Hermione’s relief. The Slytherin table sat just beside that of Gryffindor, and her customary spot faced it. Many times she had been aware that Draco was within her line of vision as she talked with her friends, although she couldn’t remember ever looking directly at him. If she were to be perfectly honest with herself, she did wonder where he was.

After dinner, Ginny and Luna came to make plans for the Slytherin party. Hermione stammered through the conversation, and was sure her face was flaming red, but the other two didn’t seem to notice. They only left when they realized Harry had been waiting in bed for them for almost an hour. As soon as they were gone, Hermione raced from her room, through the commons, and all the way to Professor McGonagall’s quarters.

When the door was finally opened (she had knocked at least three times!), she nearly pushed past her professor in her quest for answers to her sudden bout of questions.

“There’s a party tomorrow night--”

“Yes, in the Slytherin dungeons,” Minerva McGonagall interrupted her.

“And I was planning to go, but now I don’t know if I should.”

“My dear, why wouldn’t you go?”

“Well, the terms of the courtship and the vow I took today. I mean, my dress might be considered inappropriate, and there’ll be boys there who might talk to me, and--”

“And Draco will be there?” The professor supplied with a kind smile.

“Yes” she whispered, shamefaced.

“Hermione Granger, I’ve never seen you in anything even remotely inappropriate. You have no trouble telling boys you’ve no time for them. And Draco Malfoy most assuredly is hoping you will attend his party.”

“But it’s all so awkward! Wait -- how do you know that?”

“I know because he is also anxious about the party, and for many of the same reasons. Actually, he has more reason to be worried -- he publicly cast a war-stake in your name. It was accepted by Albus on your behalf and became binding. Then he and Lucius sent it to you. You accepted it without knowing its significance, and he is now unsure of himself. Will you honor the stake only out of a sense of duty? Would you have rejected his pursuit? You see, he has put his heart on his sleeve, while you carry yours hidden from his view.”

The idea of a vulnerable Draco hadn’t occurred to her. It humbled her. “Still, the dress I bought for it . . . might be a bit on the naughty side.”

“My dear, if  _ Hermione Granger _ thinks it might be  _ a bit on the naughty side _ , then it’s probably perfect for the occasion.”

“But . . . oooooh,  _ Ron will be there _ ! It will be so awkward. I mean, I’ve always assumed we’d eventually be together; only now I find myself engaged to one of our classmates  _ whom I hardly know _ . How will I manage that?”

“My advice is to not tell Mr. Weasley until you’re good and ready--” here the young witch interrupted her.

“But--”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Well, no . . .”

“Do the two of you have some sort of understanding?”

“Not that we’ve ever talked about, but . . . you know . . .”

“No, I must say, I do not. Young lady, I’m aware of the comings and goings in my house, and Mr. Weasley has been doing quite a lot of  _ both _ with quite a few witches. This is not the behavior of a young man who has an understanding with a lady.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she whispered, dropping her eyes to her lap. Years of hurt and shame overwhelmed her, and she was unable to meet the gaze of her favorite professor.

“Another reason I believe your destiny lies elsewhere. I have known the Malfoys a very long time; Lucius would die before he hurt and humiliated someone he supposedly cared about, let alone planned to marry. The family’s covenant must run strongly in both men, for I have seen the same strength of character in Draco. In my opinion, you have been saved from a lifetime of heartache and disappointment. If you want proof that you’re bespoke for the house of Malfoy, look no further. Its covenant has already sought to protect and prosper you.”

“But . . . but I don’t know what to do, or say. I don’t know what’s expected of me in the least.” She was trying not to cry, and her voice trembled.

“Be the same witch you’ve always been -- be yourself. You’re bespoken, sweetheart -- I do not think you can disappoint him.”

Obviously, Hermione got no sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're still here! That means either you've been forced to read the story against your will OR you're here by choice. Thank you for giving my baby a spin around the block. Keep on going!
> 
> Note: I promise you Molly is NOT House Wife to her sons.


	4. Chapter 4

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  
  


Saturday Morning

Hermione awoke much too early on Saturday morning with her sheets twisted around her body like a snake. _So much for a good night’s sleep._ She fought with the bedding until she escaped it and then quickly showered and dressed. A walk near the lake sounded like a good idea; it might help her organize her thoughts before this morning’s meeting. _I’m supposed to have a chaperone. Well, I’m not waiting here in my room until it occurs to someone to assign one._

The air was crisp, and there was a light mist moving across the grounds. Hermione walked slowly along the shore of the lake, smiling when the giant squid rose to the surface to peek at her. She reflected on the impossibility of her life when held to the standards of her former world. She had discovered magic flowed through her veins and she was a witch. She had befriended Harry, who as an infant defeated a dark wizard. She, Harry, and Ron had entered a war, fighting side by side as children against some of the most powerful magic possible. Harry had once again defeated Voldemort, this time as a teenager. Was it really so impossible to believe that there were such things as war-stakes and House Wives, or that she herself had unknowingly accepted pursuit by a father and son?

An hour later she found herself outside the Headmaster’s office. The door was half-open again and Professor McGonagall and Molly Weasley were already there. Breakfast had been laid out on a table by the fireplace, and Hermione’s stomach growled loudly at the sight. Molly looked up from where she sat pouring tea.

“Good morning, sweetheart! Come in, _come in_! Oooh, you are a sight for sore eyes. And you smell all outdoorsy, like you’ve just come from a nice walk.” Here Molly smiled in an understanding way, “Hopefully it’s helped you clear your thoughts. Now, let’s fill a plate for you. Come on, come on!”

Molly’s motherly bossing was just what Hermione needed. She sat down and allowed herself to be cared for by the older witch as her professor looked on knowingly. Finally, her appetite sated, she paused in her eating. Molly seemed to have been waiting for this, and nodded expectantly, “Yes, dear?”

“It’s just that . . . I have so many . . . there’s so much I don’t . . . ”

“Start somewhere -- anywhere.”

“Umm, all right. Well, how did I not know you’re a House Wife?”

“Well, mainly because Arthur is my only living husband. The circumstances are different in each family, dear. When I accepted pursuit by the House of Weasley, Arthur’s father was still alive, and then there were Arthur’s own brothers. They had all placed stakes -- not war-stakes, mind you -- and after a few months, I accepted.”

“Wait -- you were given time to think about it? Do you mean that the Malfoys didn’t expect me just to take the stake right off?”

Molly giggled. “Oh, I’d have _loved_ to see their faces when you just took the stake from Albus! You never do anything by halves, Hermione!”

Hermione smiled. It was nice to think that, in that moment, the Malfoy men had been on equally unsure footing with her. Then she computed the rest of what Molly had been saying. “How many husbands did you marry, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Please call me Molly, dear. The ceremony included four Weasley men and me. Of course, Arthur’s father passed a few years after, rest his soul. He was Bill’s father, by the way.”

“What?! That makes Bill your husband’s brother, then . . .”

“That’s part of what makes the tradition a bit confusing. If you think about it, though, having children with different but closely related fathers means the most possible combinations of family traits. Most family covenants seem to keep track of things quite well, though -- inbreeding is extremely rare. Of course, you also have to factor in that only the old families practice this tradition and none are as prolific as the House of Weasley.”

“Are any of your other children . . .?”

“Oh, well _Percy_ of course -- he’s obviously not Arthur’s child! I conceived him with Aldric. The rest are all Arthur’s. Aldric and Abott were killed in the early part of the first war, and so while I am still technically House Wife my duties have changed significantly.”

Hermione sat in silence for some time, digesting this new knowledge. 

“Do you . . . were you relieved somewhat when it became just you and Arthur?”

“It’s true that it’s much simpler to please one man than four, but Hermione -- they _loved_ me! I will never forget the feeling of constant safety and support that filled our home. There were fights then just as there are fights now that it’s just Arthur and me, but that’s completely normal. My biggest struggle was trying to keep things fair . . .”

“Umm, what do you mean by keep things fair?”

“Oh, you know men -- they don’t like to share their toys. I didn’t become so bossy overnight, sweetheart; it came from _years_ of keeping my husbands on a strict schedule. Four husbands and only seven nights in a week, and then add in children!” Molly laughed, a faraway look in her eye. “I would put up a calendar each month and divvy up all available nights between them as fairly as I could. Whoever ended up short got afternoon time, and if someone happened to feel they were still coming in last place, well -- that’s what morning quickies were for!”

Hermione stared in wide-eyed horror at Molly Weasley. “You mean to say that you were having . . . that you were with each of them _that way_ all day and night, every day and night? I didn’t even know that was . . .” _Great and good Circe, are all wizards sex addicts?!?!_

Molly snapped out of her reverie. “Oh.” She laughed. “Oh! Oh, _sweetheart_. No, you misunderstand me. Just because it was on the calendar doesn’t mean that we were having sex. Sometimes it meant that we were just spending time together, and other times it meant that I was on my own and no one else could use that time for any needs of their own. Abott was particularly thoughtful that way -- he would often opt to spend his time with me helping in the kitchen, or send me away from the house for a bit.”

Here Molly changed her tone to a brisk one, signaling a change of topic. “Besides, your stake was cast by a House with only _two_ potential husbands. That’s a much more common situation! When Narcissa was Wife to the House of Malfoy she was wedded to two as well -- Abraxas and Lucius -- and she produced only the one heir.”

Professor McGonagall steered the conversation towards the rules of a traditional formal courtship, thinking Hermione needed a chance to make one of her beloved lists. She was correct; the young witch desperately needed to stop thinking about what would happen after the ceremony.

“Would you like a quill and parchment?”

“Oh, yes please!”

“Firstly, you may now only address other men in a formal way. Excepting Harry, this includes everyone.”

“Including the Malfoy men?”

“Yes. During the courtship, all men shall be addressed as ‘my lord,’ or Mister So-and-So, or sir.”

“Please tell me that changes after courtship!”

“That is up to your husbands. This is a very constant, public way for them to claim you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I still cannot believe you haven’t noticed this in your interactions with your peers! The wizarding world utilizes the use of formal address as a means to identify House Wives. Have you never heard an older female student address a teacher or classmate in this way?”

“Oh! Yes, I have, actually. It was Astoria Greengrass, just last week in Potions! The boy who shares a table with her asked her a question, and she answered him that way. I thought it was so odd . . .”

“Correct. Astoria has accepted a stake from the House of Nott. Perhaps I will invite her to join us for a conversation sometime. It might help to talk with someone your own age.”

“Thank you. All right, so formal address to everyone except Harry.”

“At some point in the courtship, it will be natural to call your future husbands by their given names. There is no rule about this, and so you may trust your feelings to guide you.”

“Got it. Next?”

“You may not spend time outside of class with any male student other than Harry.”

“So, I can study alone with Harry, but I can’t study alone with anyone else who happens to be male?”

Molly looked shocked at this idea. “Absolutely not, sweetheart! _No one_. It would cast doubt on your virtue and even possibly taint the name of your future family.”

“Not even Ron?”

“ _Certainly_ not Ron! Hermione, all but one of my sons cast war-stakes for you. They were accepted by Albus, but since the entire family didn’t act in accord it was his right to deny precedence. Had all of my boys cast, you would have received not one, but two stakes to consider. Associating with Ron would be highly offensive to the House of Malfoy.”

“Oh. Errrrrr, may I ask who . . .?”

Molly’s face fell. She looked down at the table and seemed to be trying to collect herself. When she did look back up at the young witch, Hermione saw her eyes were heavy with tears. “Ron. He has always been a foolish boy, but in this instance Arthur and I are so deeply disappointed in him that I do not think we can forgive him.”

Hermione felt faint. _All of the Weasley boys cast stakes for me but Ron. Bill and Charlie, Fred and George, even Percy found me desirable. Their family covenant clearly found me bespoke. Would he have ever done it?_

Molly seemed to have read her thoughts. “He always maintained that he would cast when the time was right. Now it’s too late.”

The young witch lapsed into silence again. 

“If you want to know what I think about it, Hermione, it’s that the covenant isn’t very strong in Ron. It happens once in a while -- some think it’s a covenant’s way of weeding out weak wizards. My other sons will have to force his stake the next time they find a bespoke witch. Unless, of course, Arthur and the boys choose to disown him. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you will never be my lawful daughter. I would have shared my House status with you gladly.”

The three witches moved on down the list of rules. Once again, making a list proved comforting to Hermione. The scratch of the quill across the parchment was soothing and gave her the opportunity to keep her thoughts fact-based.

“Absolutely _no_ gifts from any male except Harry. This means not even a quill offered by a classmate during an exam!”

“Shouldn’t I accept something given by the Malfoys?”

“Only, and I repeat _only_ , if it is accepted on your behalf by Albus and then given to you by him.”

“I’m sure that makes sense to someone. What’s next?”

Apparently Hermione wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without an approved escort. Harry, Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster counted as her defaults, and only the latter could approve a substitute.

“Your attire should reflect the status of your future family. In your case, my dear, that is indeed quite high. You may not wear any clothing which might be considered inappropriate.”

“What exactly is inappropriate? That’s a subjective term.”

“Which is why your future husbands have provided a guideline.”

_Of course they have._ She gritted her teeth. “Please share.”

“You may not wear the following sorts of garments except with express permission from them or Albus: ending more than an inch above your knee, with excessive décolletage, or of a figure-baring fit.”

“I don’t wear those sorts of clothes anyway!”

“I did say that to you yesterday.”

“Sorry, I’m confused. Isn’t that a bit backward? Isn’t it normal for wizards to want to see witches in, errrrrr . . . inappropriate garments?”

Molly raised her eyebrows and smiled at a point behind Hermione’s head. She seemed to find the tapestry that hung there amusing.

Professor McGonagall answered her, trying not to grin as well. “Yes. And no. My dear, the purpose of these rules is to maintain your virtue until the wedding day. I’m sure the list is more to keep your men in line than control you. They obviously find you attractive; there’s no reason to tempt them beyond reasonable limits.”

Molly added, “And _no_ wizard likes to see his witch put herself on display for the world to see. However, it’s entirely different if they _give_ you an inappropriate garment" (here Molly wiggled her eyebrows at the girl).

Hermione’s face flushed deep red. She tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. “So, next on the list is never be alone with either Malfoy without an approved chaperone. That would be you, Harry, or the Headmaster, correct? That probably means that Draco can never be considered a chaperone.” _Wouldn’t want one of my future husbands to besmirch my precious virtue_. She scribbled furiously on the parchment before her.

Minerva replied, “Correct. Next: you must keep your behavior as faultless as you normally do. I don’t think you need help in this rule. Let’s see . . . oh yes, lastly there is the rule forbidding you to--”

“YES! I know! Got it. We, ummm, don’t need to go into it.”

That piqued Molly’s interest. “There’s another rule in this courtship? What is it, dear?”

“Nothing worth mentioning, Mrs.-- err, Molly!” But the person addressed had already turned to the Professor for an answer.

“Well, Minerva? What’s got Hermione squirming over there?”

Professor McGonagall answered as if the information were an everyday matter. “They’ve added a rule forbidding any type of self-induced sexual release. Clever, if you think about it.”

Molly smirked and nodded in agreement.

Hermione was embarrassed and fuming. “Yes, very _clever_. Why shouldn’t someone I don’t even know give me orders regarding what I can and cannot do to my own body?” Tears pricked at her eyes.

The two witches wiped the smiles from their faces immediately. It was Molly who attempted to redress the matter. “Oh, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Sex and pleasure are quite natural to talk about, but only once you’ve been properly bedded. You’re still a virgin and so it’s fitting to feel the way you do. And we aren’t laughing at you, or this rule in your courtship. Minerva only said it was clever because if you think about, your future husbands want to be the ones to meet your needs in that area. I’m sure in their minds, by the time of the ceremony you will be a needful, writhing mess. And to a man, that is a very good thing.” 

Hermione wiped at her eyes and pondered how much she didn’t know about being a witch -- and about being an adult. She would never have admitted it in that moment, but she was incredibly grateful to have these two honest, kind women to help guide her.

Minerva, remorseful for her insensitive remark, tried to change the subject yet again to something Hermione might find less . . . anything. “Have you told Molly about the party tonight, dear?”

Hermione dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose on the napkin that had been in her lap. She took a deep breath and accepted the unspoken apology from her professor. “Well, Slytherin house is hosting a party tonight. Professor McGonagall thinks I should go.”

“Well, of _course_ you should, sweetheart! Oh, yes, yes! This is _exactly_ the thing you need to take your mind off things for a while. And you’ll see Draco there, as well!”

Hermione looked at Molly as though she’d sprung a second head. “And how is a party hosted by Draco supposed to help me get my mind off of him?!”

“Just think -- the evening will be on your terms! You decide when to arrive and depart, and what you do in between.”

“Yes, because I’ll be able to talk with anyone I wish, dance or sit with anyone I wish, and leave on my own! What’s the point of going to a party if I have to follow these rules the entire time -- I’ll end up standing in a corner the whole time, trying to avoid anything even remotely fun! Oh, wait -- I can be near Harry. Which means I’ll undoubtedly be subjected to an evening of public debauchery. Thank you, Molly.”

“For what, dear?”

“For helping me talk myself out of going. I’ll have more fun on my own in my dorm with my books. Unless I need a chaperone to read something written by a wizard.”

“Absolutely not. Ginny and Luna have both spoken to me about the shopping trip. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to dressing up and having some fun. You will leave this meeting and go _straight_ to your room to wait for them.” Molly’s bossy tone had crept into her voice, and Hermione had always been slightly terrified of that tone. She nodded her head obediently.

“Yes, Molly. Oh.” A questioning look came into Hermione’s eyes. “Molly, did you say you spoke to both Ginny and Luna?”

Molly smiled in understanding. “I know all about those two and Harry.”

“And . . . you’re okay with it? Isn’t it a bit strange, even by Pureblood standards? Sorry, I just mean . . .”

“No offense taken. I know it’s all new to you. And, yes -- I accept their relationship. Harry loves the girls and they adore him. I’ve always hoped Ginny and Harry would end up together; Luna seems to make them complete. It’s not that strange for someone in his position, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a war hero, and also the last of his house. Traditionally, a hero of his stature is gifted with multiple brides by houses hoping to make an alliance. Of course, in these modern times, we don’t just give our daughters away without their consent. Also, as the last Potter, he has the legal right to establish a harem-based household as a way to build up his family once again. There’s a very beautiful ancient ceremony used for such weddings.”

“I shouldn’t be shocked, I know. But this means that Ginny isn’t a House Wife, right? Did you want that for her?”

“Ginny has received no stakes, and I can only assume that’s because she’s not a good fit for any of the ancient families. However, as the seventh child of a very prolific house she’s a _very_ lucky mate for a war hero. She’ll provide him with lots of heirs, as will Luna.”

“Have you actually _seen_ them together, Molly?” Minerva murmured knowingly.

“Yes, Harry’s got quite the . . .appetite, doesn’t he? Not that the girls complained. They came for a visit two weekends ago. It was rather inspiring for me and Arthur, too . . .” 

The two continued talking, having forgotten Hermione’s presence momentarily. Hermione couldn’t get her mouth open to beg them to stop. She was frozen in her spot, and, having seen the threesome in many compromising . . . _positions_ . . . her brain supplied images to go along with the women’s conversation.

‘ . . . heard a noise in the kitchen, so of course I looked in. Harry had Ginny bent over the table, taking her from behind, and Luna was straddling Ginny’s back! She had rubbed chocolate icing all over her breasts and Harry was licking them clean. That boy is _insatiable_ , Minerva!”

Hermione’s favorite professor looked a bit flustered and she had a heated look in her eye. _This has to stop now. Before Professor McGonagall launches into one of Harry’s school exploits. Because some are far, far worse than that. I need to bleach my brain_.

She stood, scraping her chair noisily across the floor. “This has been a very . . . _informative_ . . . meeting. Thank you both so much for all your help. I should . . . go . . . to get ready for the dance. Yes, I’ll go! I’m going now!”

Anything could be better than those two and the subject of sex. Gaaaah! Hermione willingly threw herself into the clutches of Ginny and Luna for an afternoon of make-overs just to escape Molly Weasley and Minerva McGonagall.


	5. Chapter 5

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Saturday

Hermione looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Her sleeveless dress, which seemed slightly naughty in her own eyes, was still demure. The silky, iridescent fabric draped over her slender curves, ending at the top of her knees. The boat neckline bared her collarbones and fell in soft folds lower on her chest, revealing the tiniest hint of the tops of her breasts. As she moved in the light the bottle-green material took on a subtle, silvery sheen. On impulse she added a favorite necklace -- a delicate chain with a charm Harry had given her shortly after the war. _To remember our fun at Gringotts_ , he’d said with a grin. The little Ukrainian Ironbelly, meticulously wrought in silver, never failed to remind her of the strength she carried within.

She had been soaked, scrubbed, plucked, oiled, manicured, had her hair done, make-up applied, and had even been dressed by her two friends. Luna had gone so far as to kneel down and buckle the straps of Hermione’s lovely little heels. She and Ginny had left her alone for a few minutes but promised to return soon. Harry was waiting for them in the common room already. 

The afternoon had been productive in more than one way. Firstly, of course, was the transformation her two friends had achieved for her. She really couldn’t stop looking at herself in the mirror! Secondly, she had drummed up the courage to tell the girls about the war-stake, her premature acceptance of it, and the courtship that had presumably begun. It was unbelievable how readily they accepted every part, but then again they were Purebloods; this was knowledge they had possessed their entire lives. Luna had immediately run to tell Harry about it so that he knew his role. Now he would escort her to and from the party. _The party!_ Hermione’s stomach felt as though it were full of butterflies caught in a windstorm. She clutched at it and her determination faltered slightly. _How is it I could face a dark lord, but not the boy to whom I accidentally engaged myself?_

It had been three days since she had taken the magical scroll from the Headmaster’s hand, and in that time (admittedly, one of those days she had hid in Professor McGonagall’s rooms) she hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy once. Was he hiding from her? Did he regret his decision already? Hermione tried to reason with herself. _Yes, he’s probably hiding. He’s probably as nervous as I am._ And it wasn’t likely he would regret a decision that had been made so long ago and probably could have been legally retracted. The truth was, Draco and she were in similar positions -- but, as Professor McGonagall had pointed out, she knew Draco’s intent and he knew nothing of hers.

This gave her just enough courage to walk down to the common room and her friends. Harry noticed her white knuckles as she grasped the railing and smiled sympathetically.

“Ready, ‘Mione?”

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s go now so we can be back here sooner.”

He offered his arm to her, which she gratefully accepted. Ginny and Luna walked slightly behind them, chatting away.

“By the way, you look amazing tonight. Draco won’t know what hit him. It’ll be the Yule Ball all over again.”

“Thank you. The-- what?”

“Oh, you remember. You wore that beautiful gown and your hair was all done up. You even had make-up on. Draco just stood by the punch bowl and drooled.” Harry glanced over at his friend’s startled face. “You didn’t know? He’s liked you for ages, ‘Mione. _Really_ liked you. I learned all about Pureblood traditions from Ron and Neville over the years, and I’m not shocked about the Malfoy stake.”

Hermione’s mouth hung slightly open as she walked beside Harry, trying to process what he had just said. _Draco’s liked me -- really liked me -- for ages. And I never noticed. And now we’re engaged to be married, and we’ve never had a real conversation. And let’s not forget -- I’m marrying his father as well. Muggles would eat this stuff up on toast. Draco likes me._

“Umm, thank you, I guess. I’m so glad to have your support, Harry. This is all so new to me! If only I had known what was happening, I would never have taken that scroll from Dumbledore so quickly. I . . . I would have thought about it, and maybe got to know Draco beforehand.”

Harry put his other hand over Hermione’s, which was resting on his forearm, and gave it a firm squeeze. “I think what happened was meant to be, ‘Mione. Being a House Wife is a huge distinction, and you deserve to be honored. Always. The Malfoys will take care of you and they’ll love you. I think you’ll find that you can love them, too; just give it time.”

Harry’s words filled her with hope and bravery. She lifted her chin a bit higher and smiled at him gratefully.

  
  


The party was in full swing when they arrived. The Slytherins had decorated the walls of their dungeons with alternating tapestries of shimmering silver and deep, luminescent green. The effect was, for lack of a better word, magical. Hermione paused on the threshold of the common room, gathering her courage. When Harry tugged her forward she followed, glancing back at the door longingly.

“We’ll just plan to stay an hour or so, right? And if you need to leave earlier for a really good reason, I’ll take you back to your dorm. Try to relax, ‘Mione. It’s a party.”

Harry dragged her to the middle of the room where a crowd of students was dancing to loud, pulsing music. Ginny and Luna joined them, and Hermione relaxed and let the music guide her movements. She had never been a confident dancer, but these parties had shown her that no one was watching with a critical eye. Ginny and Luna were a riot, with their ridiculous over-the-top hip swinging and exaggerated sexy pouts, and Hermione joined in their game. Soon others were mimicking the silly moves as well. 

She recognized a few Gryffindors in their midst and was glad when she remembered the rules that had just been explained so carefully to her. Hermione made sure to keep her distance from all the boys, even ones she considered friends. She swung round at one point to find Ron right behind her with a feral look on his face. His eyes, which must have been glued to her bottom, were now fixed on her chest. Hermione found herself appalled at the way he was looking at her, and she turned around again and moved as far away as possible.

They must have carried on for an hour on the dance floor before Harry finally began complaining of being tired and thirsty. Hermione agreed with him. “You’re right. Why don’t we get a drink?”

He guided her across the room, noticing all the looks Hermione was garnering. She really looked nice tonight, and interestingly enough, her dress was the same color green as the decorations. She was even wearing some silver to complete the similarity: a delicate chain around her neck from which hung a small charm. They stopped at a table against the far wall, laden with bottles and punch bowls and rows of glasses.

“Circe’s left tit -- look at this spread!” He whistled and turned with a grin. “Pick your poison, “Mione!” 

She glanced around at the choices and decided to finally see what all the fuss was about Firewhiskey. However, Harry had no sooner poured her a small bit in a glass and turned to hand it to her when it was intercepted by a large, pale hand. Draco Malfoy had made his appearance.

“Miss Granger, perhaps you would care for a different beverage.” Draco was placing a tall, stemmed glass filled with a bubbly, pale gold liquid in her hand.

Hermione scowled at him and brought the glass to her lips. _He did it again! What is wrong with him?! Oh._ As the crisp, cold champagne hit her taste buds she smiled involuntarily. It might have been aimed in Draco’s general direction. Harry excused himself, telling Hermione he would be nearby.

Draco held up the glass of Firewhiskey originally intended for her. He looked at it thoughtfully, then raised it to his mouth and drained it in one gulp. His lips tightened into a thin line and he gave a small shudder. He looked down at Hermione. “For courage.” 

He was obviously nervous, and that somehow helped her relax a little bit. “I don’t see why you should need courage for a scolding, Mr. Malfoy!” She frowned at him.

Now Draco looked confused. “I beg you pardon?”

“You are insufferable! When was the last time you let me have fun of any kind?” Her frown turned into an outright scowl. He looked even more confused, and so she continued, “You are the most _aggravating_ drink stealing, curfew calling, flirt-interrupting . . . _person_ . . . I know! You have been foiling my fun for years!”

Draco looked down at her from his considerable height with an expression of confusion and distress, and then what could Hermione do but smile? She beamed up at him, a small, nervous laugh escaping her. “I’m sorry. That was very rude of me. I’m a little nervous, I guess. Being angry sometimes helps me get over it.”

“I am . . . confused. Are you upset with me, or nervous, or angry?”

“I’m very nervous. And I don’t want to be, so I’m trying to be angry instead. But I’m not upset with you, not really -- although you really have made a habit of keeping me from fun over the years.”

Draco’s eyes were smiling but his mouth was solemn. _That is a VERY good look. It’s almost a twinkle._ “ _. . ._ from trouble.”

“Err, what?”

“I’ve made a habit of keeping you from trouble over the years. It’s been a pastime of mine.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

“Yes. For instance, take Firewhiskey--”

“Well, I _would_ , only you won’t _let_ me.” _Sweet Merlin, he twinkled at me._

“It’s not a drink for someone with no tolerance for alcohol. Had I not kept it from you, you would have either fallen asleep in a corner and been taken advantage of by some boy, or lost all your senses and been taken advantage of by some boy.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, as you say: ‘oh.’ Did you not think of that?”

“I . . . I’ve never had enough alcohol to know how much about it. In light of that, I thank you very, very much.”

Now the smile reached his mouth in a slight, one-sided quirk of his full lips. An almost-smile. “I’d ask you to dance, but you seem to have worn yourself out.”

“Yes, I did. It’s nice to finally talk to you, though. Unless you’d like to find someone else to dance with.”

Draco looked horrified. “Why would I do that?”

“Perhaps you really, really like to dance . . . I wouldn’t know; I don’t know anything about you. Oh -- are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you even allowed to dance with someone else, or do the rules of this courtship not apply to you?”

His face had relaxed from its previous look of horror and he offered her his arm. “There are different rules for me. Many more, in fact. Would you care to sit and talk some more?”

Hermione took his arm and smiled tentatively at him. _He’s not that bad. A bundle of nerves, yes. But so am I. He has the best twinkle. This might be nice_. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In review: Hermione told Ginny and Luna, and Luna ran to tell Harry. Hermione went to Slytherin party. Draco possesses twinkling eyes, which are a fatal weakness of our heroine. The champagne was excellent.


	6. Sunday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are up in arms about Hermione just going along with all of this. Romance/humor/absurdity, remember? If you like the story otherwise, just go with it. Hermione won't be a doormat and she's not done getting herself in trouble.

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Chapter 6 - Sunday Afternoon

Hermione and Draco had talked into the evening. They had both kept the conversation relatively light, choosing to skirt the topic of the courtship and anything too closely related. Instead, their talk had been much like Hermione imagined it would be on a first date. Better, really, if she compared this to the awkward evening she had spent evading Viktor Krum’s paws at the Yule Ball. 

They had shared favorite school experiences and even traded compliments shyly. She had told him of her detailed plans to ‘foil his own fun’ at this very party, and he had laughed a soft, husky laugh. In the end, Harry had come to the table and practically dragged her away. By the looks on his and his girls’ faces, the three were in a hurry to find some public place to defile. Hermione almost suggested they just shag each other at the party so she could stay a while longer, but then thought better of it.

Draco had brought her hand to his mouth and bowed over it slightly for a moment before gently kissing the back of it. Hermione had blushed and wished him pleasant dreams, and then allowed Harry to chaperone her back to the Gryffindor common room. From there, she had floated up to her dorm room in a daze.

Now she lay in her bed, pleasantly confused by her jumbled emotions. Had she suddenly discovered a heretofore-suppressed desire to marry two strange wizards straight out of Hogwarts? Absolutely not! Did she regret her rash acceptance of that beautiful war stake? Of course! Could she even now, at the very edges of her awareness, feel the war-stake’s magic . . .  _ purring _ as if in sentient contentment? Yes . . . But had she enjoyed her time with Draco Malfoy? Most certainly. She smiled at the realization and began replaying some of the nicer moments in her mind over and over. 

_ They had been sitting at a table in a corner, and it was small enough that if they both leaned across the tabletop they could carry on an audible conversation. Draco’s arms were folded on the tabletop in front of him, but Hermione’s nervous fingers toyed with a cloth napkin for a good while before he had tugged it from her hands with an almost-smile and found her another glass of champagne. That had helped a bit. They had been talking about favorite things, and Draco had said his favorite color was green. _

_ “Shocking,” Hermione had smirked. _

_ Draco had looked down quickly at her dress, and then up at her face, letting his eyes travel over her hair before returning to her eyes. “You’re wearing my favorite shade tonight.” _

_ “I am? That’s a coincidence.” _

_ “A very happy one. You look lovely in it.” _

_ Hermione swooned a little. No one had ever paid her such a romantic compliment before. _

She went to bed early that night, eager to dream about the evening, but not before she carefully hung up the beautiful green dress.

The next morning came and went, and Hermione slept on. She finally awoke at noon, startled by the loud pop of another summons. It landed in her lap. This one was for the first official visit by the Malfoys, and Hermione was instructed to appear in Dumbledore’s office at four o’clock. Not knowing what else to do, she drew on her robe, left her room, and began the convoluted process of going to Professor McGonagall’s chambers. It seemed like another impromptu meeting was in order.

After waking Ginny (who groggily demanded a brief explanation), who went to find Luna, who was probably with Harry, who would need to escort her to McGonagall’s rooms, Hermione went back to her room and decided to use what might be a large chunk of time wisely. She showered and, back in her robe, began digging through her clothes for something that might be appropriate for such an occasion. It wasn’t that she didn’t have nice things, but Draco’s wonderful compliment from the night before kept playing through her thoughts.  _ Surely I have something else that might make me look . . . lovely? _

By the time Ginny returned to tell her that she had found Luna, who had woken Harry, who first begged a shower and then would be waiting in the common room, Hermione was a wreck. The contents of her wardrobe and trunk were scattered everywhere, and the young witch was crumpled up on the floor, gently hugging the beautiful, bottle-green dress. She looked up at her friend’s arrival. “Oh, Gin. What am I to do?”

As the youngest child (who happened to be the only witch) in a large and less-than-prosperous family, Ginny sussed out the situation immediately. Hands on her hips, she adopted a tone eerily like her mother’s. She seemed to be channeling Molly directly, in fact.

“Hermione Jean Granger, you stop your moping  _ this instant _ ! Yes, you looked amazing in that dress, and Draco noticed. But  _ good grief _ (here her voice had hit a shrieking pitch briefly which made Hermione actually flinch)! He’d notice you the same way if you showed up in a house-elf hanky! Oh. Well,  _ yes he would, wouldn’t he! _ That might not be the comparison I was going for, but  _ you know what I mean!!!  _ Now quit your sniveling and help me sort through these things.  _ Honestly. Do I have to do EVERYTHING?” _

Hermione was sufficiently terrified, and helped clean up the mess and make a pile of possible outfits. Ginny looked through the garments and decided upon a long green silk scarf. “Right. Off we go. We’ll fix the rest of you afterward.”

Hermione tried to argue that she couldn’t exactly wear just a scarf, but Ginny pushed her out the door and down the stairs to Harry, shouting the whole time. “Come on, you two! We don’t have time for all this lollygagging! Let’s go, let’s go!”

As Ginny dragged them out the door and down the hall, Harry threw a disturbed glance at Hermione, whispering “She’s scary when she’s like this. What did you do to set her off?”

“Just do what she says.” Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell Harry that she had the seen the future, and that in it Ginny bore a striking resemblance to her mother.

They arrived at Professor McGonagall’s chambers breathless, with the redhead still clearly in charge. She dismissed Harry, telling him she’d let him know when he was needed again. Harry paused momentarily, and then with a shove of his glasses to set them back in place, meekly made a suggestion. “About that. I was thinking that we could maybe use the charmed Galleons to communicate. What do you think?”

Hermione was surprised she hadn’t thought of that herself. The coins, along with many other war relics, had long been hidden at the bottoms of trunks by those who wanted to forget why such things had been needed in the first place. Harry’s idea was a solid one; using them would mean she would always be able to contact him and thereby avoid being in breach of the courtship rules.

“That’s brilliant, Harry! I’ll hunt mine down when I get back to my room and you do the same. Can you meet us back here, say, in an hour?”

“Add another thirty minutes to that and it’s a deal.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look in which Ginny was clearly communicating a warning to him. 

“Or not. I’ll see you in exactly sixty minutes.” He turned and took off running down the hall.

Hermione turned to Ginny. “Do I even want to know?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well, we’ve left Luna to keep him company, and their idea of a--”

“No, I most definitely do not. That’s quite enough, Gin.”

Professor McGonagall answered their knock quickly with an air of premeditation, and so Hermione knew the older witch had been expecting them. Ginny was talking before the door was completely open. “Right. So Draco paid Hermione a  _ very _ nice compliment last night, and now she’s in a panic about what to wear this afternoon. We have three hours to get her ready, but I’m sure she’ll want to waste -- sorry,  _ spend _ \-- part of that having one of your empowering chats, so here’s the plan.”

The plan, it seemed, was the transfiguration of a green silk scarf into something worthy of another  _ nice _ compliment. Hermione was relegated to the couch as the other two talked and gestured, all the while giving her appraising glances. It was actually a good plan, seeing as Ginny was a fashionable dresser and their professor was skilled in transfigurations. Hermione was humbled by the fact that it hadn’t occurred to her.  _ Brightest witch of my age, my sainted aunt. No wonder Ginny was so cross with me! _

It took twenty minutes of rapid-fire, whispered discussion, and only one attempt. The dress was perfect, and a very un-Hermione-like squeal rose to her lips when she had donned the new dress and seen herself in the mirror. It hung on her shoulders by thin straps, skimmed the curves of her torso, and then flared out at her hips in a long kerchief style. She gave an impulsive swirl, and the silk followed her movements gracefully.

“It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever . . . it’s so . . . ”

“Yes, yes -- thank us profusely. Just warn your wizards not to use Finite you-know-what-um, or we’ll get to test my house-elf-hankie theory. Never mind, Professor. Enjoy the moment, because as soon as we get back to the dorm I’m going to yank that hair into submission.” Ginny was obviously pleased with herself, as was their professor.

Harry was waiting in the hallway when they stepped through the doorway. Hermione promised to return for a preparatory meeting at three o’clock, and was promptly dragged off by Ginny.

The redheaded witch could certainly follow a schedule and manage staff, as evidenced by the fact that Hermione found herself back outside McGonagall’s door with Harry with two minutes to spare. As soon as the door swung open, Harry was off like a shot, calling out a reminder for her to use her Galleon to summon him. The professor followed him with her eyes until he rounded the corner, murmuring, “Such stamina . . . ”

For the first time since people had begun commenting in her presence about Harry’s sexual proclivities, Hermione found herself replying. “That’s for sure. If Professor Dumbledore only knew what kind of man he’s allowed to act as my brother.”

McGonagall smiled at the young witch. “Oh, my dear! That old fox doesn’t miss anything that happens in this castle. Regardless of Harry’s preferences, the Headmaster knows that boy thinks of you only as a sister. He was by far the safest choice. Now, to business.”

Hermione was handed quill and paper to ground her thoughts, and they began. Apparently this first visit was to be highly structured, and the young witch needed to be in the know.

“First of all, there is your entry and the introductions . . . ”

They proceeded to the crux of the visit, which was the public acceptance of the war-stake before all vested parties. There would be a representative from the ministry to witness this part. 

“You must not hesitate, Hermione. I know you too well to think you would make a scene at this point. You  _ must _ take the stake without pause . . . ”

After the short ceremony of acceptance, there would be time to talk with each of her future husbands individually.

“This is a chance to break the ice, so to speak. You are not the first witch to accept a stake from virtual strangers, which is why traditional courtships are set up the way they are. You will have many visits between now and your wedding ceremony in which to become familiar with your wizards . . . ”

Many visits, she learned upon asking, meant as many as could be fit into the next two weeks. That had caused a small meltdown, as Hermione hadn’t realized she would be married so quickly. “An  _ accidental _ acceptance becomes  _ legally binding _ . I am betrothed to not one but  _ two _ wizards, one of whom is about twenty years older than me, AND I am to marry them in  _ TWO WEEKS _ !”

No amount of furious argument changed those facts, and Hermione knew it. She wasn’t getting out of this. Still, it felt good to blow off some steam. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hermione! You enjoyed yourself with the boy last night. You’re being a bit unreasonable.”

“I’m still being married off! In  _ TWO WEEKS _ ! To  _ TWO _ wizards!” 

“According to a very ancient and still popular tradition  _ you followed _ by accepting the Malfoy war-stake, which happens to be both magically and legally binding.”

Professor McGonagall was determined to keep her on track, too, and only gave her a few minutes to vent before returning to the original topic.

The visits, she explained, would be mostly impromptu. It seemed that Lucius Malfoy was an aggressive businessman and had a tight schedule, so Hermione would have to be on call every day. She and Draco would be allowed to see one another outside of the visits as long as Harry chaperoned.

“One more thing, dear: at the end of the visit, there will be a few more ceremonial parts. I won’t trouble you with them because it’s best to keep them spontaneous. Now summon that athletic brother of yours; it’s time to get going.”

“Thank you, Professor. I’m so grateful to you for all your help. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.”

Minerva McGonagall’s eyes misted over, and she smiled tenderly at the young witch before her. “Oh, my dear, you aren’t alone at all. And I think it’s time you started calling me by my given name.”


	7. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the love of Circe and Merlin in a small, dark broomcloset! I have PURPOSEFULLY changed Draco's middle name. Do NOT review anonymously regarding Draco Malfoy's middle name! He cannot have the canon middle name for the purposes of this story (to be divulged at my whim).

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Chapter 7 - Sunday

Three forty-five that afternoon found Harry leading Hermione through the castle. The young witch turned a few heads along the way, which Harry helpfully pointed out.

“Just -- will you  _ stop _ it! They’re only curious about why I’m all dressed up, is all. Most of them have never seen me in anything other than robes, jeans, and trainers.”

“Sure, ‘Mione. That’s what’s why all the guys are staring.”

“Honestly! Maybe I have something on my face. Do I? Please check! There’s something there, isn’t there?!”

Harry glanced at her with a concerned look. “Hermione, what happened to the confident witch who helped me defeat a dark lord? You haven’t quite been yourself since the . . . well, you know what I mean; but frankly speaking, you’re a mess lately. If you don’t want to do this, then say the word and I’ll take you back up to Professor McGonagall. Hang the Malfoys -- I just want you to be happy.”

She frowned. “This is a lot to process in such a short amount of time, Harry! No, I haven’t changed my mind. A few days ago I would have said I was keeping my word out of honor and, of course, because the acceptance is binding. Then I didn’t let myself think too much for a while. Do you remember what you said last night, about it being meant to happen? I’m starting to feel the same way -- as though this was meant to be. Is this what destiny feels like? I’m just nervous, and hoping I don’t have something on my face, because  _ you’re right, people are staring _ !”

Harry grinned and leaned in to whisper, “It’s the dress. I can’t decide if it’s incredibly innocent or incredibly sexy, but if you weren’t my ‘sister’ I’d probably be staring, too.”

She mock-punched him and, as he leaned away he fished his hand into his pocket. Pulling out her necklace with the charm he had given her, he ordered, “Here, put this on before you go in; Ginny says so.”

They paused at the foot of the staircase leading to the Headmaster’s office, and Harry gave her one last smile as she smoothed the chain against the fabric of the dress. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the pendant, and he grinned. “Ginny’s a very smart girl. See you later.”

At the top of the staircase Hermione paused. The door was closed and she knew it was expected that she knock even though they were expecting her. Her hand came up and she rapped her knuckles softly against the solid wood twice. 

Professor Dumbledore opened it to her, welcoming her in. “Please come in. Gentlemen, Miss Hermione Jean Granger.” He drew her in with a wave of his hand. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Mr. Draco Hyperion Malfoy, and Mr. Hareton Scurrows, who is here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic to witness the completion of this stake-casting.”

As they were introduced each man bowed formally to her, and in that moment she could have kissed Minerva McGonagall’s cheek because she had prepared Hermione beautifully. Hermione swept a deep curtsy to each man, keeping her eyes at ground level. Professor Dumbledore led her to the center of the room, where a circle had been drawn on the floor. She stepped into its center. 

The Headmaster stood directly in front of her, just outside the circle, with the war-stake in his hands. 

“Who has cast this war-stake for this lady?”

Now Lucius Malfoy and Draco stepped into the circle, one on each side of her. They spoke as one. “It has been cast unanimously by the House of Malfoy.”

He addressed Hermione again. “My lady, a stake has been cast for your hand by the ancient and noble House of Malfoy. Do you accept this stake, and therefore the position of House Wife?”

She curtsied low, and with knees still bent stretched out her left hand as she raised her head to look Dumbledore in the eye. “I accept this stake, my lord.”

‘Then as the stake keeper until this moment, I give it to you as pledged Wife to the House of Malfoy. Present to me your pledged husbands.”

Hermione rose to her full height, which felt shorter than usual with the two tall men standing so close to her, and handed the beautiful stake back to Dumbledore. She glanced up out of the corner of her eye to see which of the men stood at her left, then drew his hand into her own and held them toward the Headmaster. “My lord, I present to you my intended husband, Lucius Malfoy.”

Then she did the same with Draco. Dumbledore wrapped the two sets of hands around the war-stake so that Hermione’s touched the scroll directly and the men’s hands covered hers. With his other hand, the Headmaster raised his wand. He traced intricate patterns in the air as he soundlessly breathed the spell. There was light, and heat, and the beautiful war-stake seemed to dissolve. As it did, though, Hermione felt a tingling sensation in her hands and wrists. Looking down, she saw bright silver tendrils curl around the ring finger of her left hand and up the same wrist. 

Without thought to the ceremony she broke that hand free and held it aloft, that she might see it better. There, starting at the first knuckle of her left ring finger and wrapping around it several times only to spread delicately over the back of her hand and up and around her wrist and forearm, was a dragon. She gasped quietly and then blushed when Lucius chuckled.

Mr. Scurrows stepped forward at that point to congratulate the Malfoy men and to thank Professor Dumbledore for the simplicity of the ceremony.  _ I’m sure that translates to the speed of it. I wonder if some of these involve a lot more pomp and circumstance. _ Lastly, the ministry official bowed before Hermione and thanked her for the honor of validating such an esteemed stake-casting. Hermione curtsied back, making a mental note to ask Professor Mc--  _ Minerva _ \-- about that later.

The easy part was done, now. She had known exactly what to expect and do at every step and now she was on her own: it was time for  _ conversation _ . She would have waffled in uncertainty, but Lucius Malfoy prevented that. “My lady, there is time now for us to become acquainted. Will you honor me with your company?” 

He was already guiding her to the windowed alcove at the side of Dumbledore’s office, where a single wingback chair sat facing the outside scenery. Hermione was confused for a brief moment about the seating arrangements, until Lucius sat down gracefully and drew her to sit on his lap. His hands wrapped loosely around her waist, and for the briefest of seconds Hermione panicked. Then it occurred to her that things couldn’t possibly be any stranger, and that she was, after all, going to marry this man in the very near future. Still, she was at a loss for words. She concentrated on her breathing until Lucius spoke.

“You have honored my House with your acceptance, Lady, and your mastery of the ceremony was commendable. Surely, though, as a Muggleborn you have many questions still?” 

She raised her eyes to meet his, feeling like the proverbial deer caught in the oncoming headlamps of a car. They were mesmerizing: distant, glacial blue, and set widely under heavy brows. She stared until he lifted one of those handsome brows, at which she blushed and glanced quickly out the window before her. “Sir, I don’t even know where to begin. I am at a complete loss.”

The distinguished-looking wizard held her in his piercing gaze. He seemed to be considering something. Finally, he said, “I cast my stake when you were sixteen. However, I recognized you as Bespoke much earlier. Draco and I were shopping for his first year school robes when you brushed against me in Madam Malkin’s shop. Your magical signature was already so defined . . . ”

Her mind was off and running with the information.  _ Why had he waited? Would it be rude to ask? _

“Perhaps you will indulge me by telling me of your year so far instead.” 

She glanced at him quickly, and was struck by a sudden softening in his gaze.  _ He looks kind _ . “Well, my lord . . . it was difficult to come back to this place after the final battle, but necessary. You see, I wanted to leave Hogwarts on my own terms, and that didn’t include memories tinged by hate and pain. I returned to vanquish my deepest fears once and forever . . . ”

A small bell sounded somewhere, returning Hermione to the present. She became aware that she was still perched on Lucius Malfoy’s knee, that his hands were still at her waist, and that he had been listening to her babbling with rapt attention. The sound had brought both of them out of whatever bubble they had shared, and he gently lifted her off his knee. He bowed before her. “Thank you for indulging me, my lady. Until our next visit.” 

With those formal words Lucius had raised her newly marked left hand and placed a kiss to the dragon’s back. Hermione was surprised by her inner reaction to the simple gesture. It had caused her breath to catch and a warm flush to spread over her cheeks. He led her to the inner office, where Draco stood by the fireplace.

“My time has ended for today, it seems. Draco . . .?” Lucius handed her off to the younger wizard and turned in the direction of the Headmaster’s desk. 

Draco bowed slightly over her hand. “Miss Granger, will you visit with me?”

She smiled, thinking back to their time at the Slytherin party. “I’d like that.”

Draco led them to the alcove, but instead of sitting himself he offered her the chair. She sank into it gratefully. Draco leaned with his back against the window, facing her, and gave her an almost-smile.

“You’re here.”

“Yeees . . .?” Her response came as a drawn-out question.

“You didn’t try to run off.”

“I haven’t fled screaming yet, have I?” Hermione attempted a smile and was sure it looked more like a grimace.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know --  _ not _ running out screaming? I don’t think this is how Muggles do things.”

“Not for a very long time, but anyhow I’m  _ not _ a Muggle any more; haven’t been since my parents died. This world is all I have, now. It’s helped that my friends are mostly Purebloods; the fact that they accept this as normal makes it . . . real.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For . . .?”

“Your parents. I lost my mother so long ago I can’t remember her. I wouldn’t wish that for anyone.” 

When had she moved from the chair? Yet here she was, standing in front of Draco, looking up into his handsome, solemn face. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He almost-smiled at her and quickly changed the subject. “You’re wearing my favorite color again.”

Hermione blushed, her hands suddenly needing to be busy. She settled for toying with the material of her skirt until Draco said softly, “If you don’t stop, I’ll be forced to hunt you down a glass of champagne.”

That brought a delighted smile to her lips as more memories from the previous evening came to mind. “Are you keeping me from fun, Mr. Malfoy?”

His smile lifted both sides of his mouth for the first time, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.  _ He’s so handsome. _

“And that necklace -- I’ve seen you wear it many times. Is it significant?” His eyes were on her charm, where it rested at the very top of the slight valley between her breasts.

“Harry gave it to me, but that’s not really why I like it so much. I guess I don’t know; it’s been my favorite for as long as I’ve had it.” She reached up unconsciously and stroked its smooth silver shape.

Draco was smiling again in a way that made the world go sideways for a moment. Just then the bell rang again, signaling their conversation was at an end. Draco held out his hand to her, and she offered hers with a self-conscious blush. He pressed his lips to it so gently she barely felt the pressure, and then they walked back toward the inner office.

Hermione’s mind was working at lightning speed. The conversations had been exhausting, and yet easier than she would have imagined. Both men had been courteous, and they had both done their best to put her at ease. It was hard to think of them both without the use of comparisons. Lucius had taken charge from the moment he’d spoken to her -- placing her on his knee, settling his hands about her waist, directing the conversation. The word  _ dominant _ came to mind. Draco, on the other hand, was hesitant and treated her as an equal of sorts. It had been obvious that he was affected by the slightest brush of their hands. Draco in one word? Perhaps, at this point,  _ safe.  _ So much to think about, but not right now. The Headmaster was summoning them together for the last few rites, or so she guessed. Draco led her to the circle they had used before.

Professor Dumbledore’s face held no clue of what was to come next. Now for the ceremonial bits Minerva said would be best if spontaneous.  _ A hint would have been nice _ . Hermione had never liked pop quizzes. The Headmaster bade them join hands and then placed them one atop the other. Then Lucius placed his unoccupied hand on top of the hand-knot, and Draco did the same on the bottom.

“This witch has accepted your stake, and I have given her to you for the furthering of your House. How will you keep her?” intoned Dumbledore.

Draco answered, “She will dwell with us in the halls of our House.”

Then it was Lucius’ turn. “She will be bathed in honor and wrapped in glory.”

“She will be filled with sons by us, and she will birth our champions,” replied Draco.

“She will sit between us and sleep in our bed, and her breast shall bear our mark.” 

As Lucius finished speaking the last part, Dumbledore performed an intricate spell above their hand-knot. Hermione saw sparks and felt warmth flow through her hands from the Malfoy men. Her mind, ever busy, was thinking about the poetry of this ceremony (if she didn’t think too much about the whole being filled with sons and bearing a mark on her breast. And what was this about ‘our bed’? Hopefully the whole thing was metaphorical).

The men released her hands. Hermione tried to catch a glimpse of theirs, to see if they had been marked as well, but was unsuccessful. They both took a step back to stand slightly behind her, and wrapped their arms around her waist from each side. It was a cage-like feeling, and Hermione tried to focus on the next part of the ceremony itself rather than her own feelings about it.

Dumbledore began the next segment. “A House is founded on its warriors and furthered by its Wife. Who takes up the burden of care for this Wife-to-be?”

Lucius started this time. “By my hand shall her lips be fed.”

“By my hand shall her body be clothed, “ responded Draco.

“She will know the depth of my heart,” said Lucius. 

Draco finished, “And her pleasure shall be mine.”

Regardless of her embarrassment with parts of it, it was beautiful and her body was responding to the sensuality of the ceremony’s language.  _ Are the words always the same, or are they composed by the casters?  _ She shivered slightly at the idea that Draco might have written his lines with her in mind. 

There was more to come, it seemed. Lucius and Draco released their hold on her waist and stepped forward so that they were a step in front of her now.

“Who brings a gift to this circle?” asked Dumbledore in a solemn voice.

“I bring a gift for my bride-to-be, and I will receive one from her,” answered Lucius Malfoy.

“What is this gift, and what will you take?”

“I will take her maidenhead, and in return I will give her my fidelity,” replied Lucius.

Hermione’s face flushed deeply, and she kept her eyes fixed firmly at a spot to the left of the Headmaster. He reached down and took her hand, placing it in that of Lucius Malfoy.

“Your gift is acceptable. Yours shall be given on the wedding day. Who else brings a gift to this circle?”

Draco’s soft, husky voice spoke firmly from above her, “I bring a gift for my bride-to-be, and I will receive one from her.” He turned and reached out, taking her other hand in his and holding it to his chest.

“What is this gift, and what will you take?” 

Draco looked down into her face with his silver eyes, and Hermione was struck by the sudden confidence in his gaze. His hand dropped hers and gently touched her chin. Her own hand hovered uncertainly between them, her fingers still tingling with the warmth of his grasp.

“I will have your first kiss, and in exchange give you mine.”

“Your gift is acceptable. Yours shall be granted this day.”

He lowered his face to hers determinedly, leaning slightly to the side and gently pressing his lips to hers. It was tender and sweet, and the kind of kiss that Hermione had dreamed of all her life. His scent washed over her then, an echo of the war-stake’s incredible fragrance, and when he pulled away seconds later, she found that her heart was racing. Draco looked uncertain and as though he wanted to speak, but he kept silent and watched her response.

Hermione stepped away, backing out of the circle. “I . . . I need to go. Now.” She turned and felt the eyes of the Malfoy men on her, following her retreat. Neither moved to stop her, nor did they say anything. Hermione fled the office at a pace much faster than her usual walk, although she forced herself to keep from actually running.

She fled to the chambers of her favorite professor, the one who had helped create the beautiful dress she wore and who had prepared her for the ceremony. Her knuckles rapped on the door frantically until, finally, it was opened.


	8. More of Sunday

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Chapter 8 - Sunday

  
  


Minerva McGonagall opened the door for the young witch. “Please come in, Hermione.”

No obstacle barring her path, Hermione wandered mechanically to the couch in the professor’s sitting room and sat down. Heedless of her dress, she drew her legs up and tucked her knees under her chin like a young child.

The older witch followed slowly. She sat beside her student and stroked her hair softly. “Come now, child. Surely it isn’t as bad as that. Will you tell me?”

Hermione’s eyes were wild when she looked up at Professor McGonagall. “They recognized me as Bespoke when I was twelve and cast when I turned sixteen. The ceremony was ancient and the magic was powerful. The words were beautiful, although I hope they were metaphorical. My virginity will be given to Lucius, and Draco took my first kiss. And they gave me fidelity and a first kiss in return. It was the most embarrassing, most confusing thing I have ever done in my life. I felt like a commodity!”

McGonagall made a sympathetic sound. “How did you know the ceremony was ancient?”

The young witch saw through her professor’s ploy to distract her but went along with it gratefully. “It reminded me of some of the ancient rites of the earliest magical people. I did some supplemental reading for  _ History of Magic _ . The style was liturgical, its spells were arcane, and its view of women was both subjugated and reverent. Reminiscent of the first age of magic.”

“That would make sense; the House of Malfoy is one of the most ancient wizarding Houses. And the magic -- you said it was powerful?”

“Umm, yes, it felt that way. The Headmaster didn’t utter any of the spells aloud, but the wand-work was extraordinarily intricate. And then there’s this.” She held her left hand aloft, baring the dragon marking to the professor.

Professor McGonagall reached out and took Hermione’s arm in her hands, stroking the marked skin gently. “A handmark.  _ Very _ old-fashioned. It will fade in time, but for now it marks you as a betrothed witch. It’s lovely, dear. And fitting, don’t you agree?”

“What do you mean?” The handmark, as Minerva had called it, was slightly luminescent and more than a little distracting. The curly-haired witch found it difficult to tear her eyes from it, but finally managed to meet her mentor’s gaze.

“Well, you bear one of their names on your skin.”

A light of comprehension dawned in Hermione’s eyes. “Draco --  _ dragon _ . That’s why he was so pleased with my necklace.” Her hand went unconsciously to the charm and stroked it.

“Mmmm . . . that, and I think any wizard would be pleased to have his namesake resting on the bosom of his intended.”

That brought a fresh blush to Hermione’s face.  _ Oh, this is getting ridiculous. Is there such thing as blush-burn? I’m going to be permanently red! _ She hid her face in her hands.

Minerva McGonagall patted Hermione’s knee. “The blushing will go away soon enough, my dear. Until that day, remember it’s a sign of your virtue and doesn’t bother anyone but you. Now tell me about the words that were so beautiful.”

The blush that had barely begun to fade burst forth again across the young witch’s face. She regarded the professor warily for a moment and then gave in to the need to talk with someone about what had just happened. “Well, the ceremony was done in three parts, with a question asked by Professor Dumbledore and then four replies given. They were alternately answered by Lucius and Draco.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, Hermione! What are you fussing about?”

“It was the words themselves -- they were beautiful, but in a sensual way. They were promises given about me and my care . . . ”

“Let me guess -- ‘feed you, clothe you’?”

“Much more. They promised to bathe me in honor, wrap me in glory, and fill me with sons. They promised I would bear their mark on my breast, that they would feed and clothe me with their hands, that I would know the depths of their heart, and that my pleasure would be theirs.”

McGonagall’s breath had become heavier and her eyes glazed as Hermione spouted off the liturgical responses of the ceremony. “Good Merlin, girl. We need a drink.”

As she summoned two glasses and a decanter she continued, “You young people will be the death of me. Between you and Harry . . . ”

“But Professor--!”

“I meant it when I asked you to call me by my given name. We’re no longer merely teacher and student. Hermione, you have become like a . . . a  _ niece _ to me. I would never assume to be your mother, but aunt I can manage. You will call me Minerva, and I will pour us a drink.” She conjured a decanter of firewhiskey and two glasses from the sideboard and poured a small amount into each one. The first she tipped back and swallowed in one gulp without a wince, the other she held out to Hermione.

“Oh, no thank you, Pro-- err, Minerva. Draco says I’m not the firewhiskey sort.”

Minerva McGonagall smiled like a cat that has just cornered a mouse. “Oh,  _ Draco _ says so, does he?”

“Yes, at the party he gave me champagne instead.” Hermione smiled self-consciously. “He said it’s been a side-job of his for years, keeping me out of trouble.”

“And this is the same Draco who just took your first kiss and gave you his, from whom you ran like a first year all the way here?”

Hermione’s eyes cleared and her mouth dropped open. “Oh.”

“Yes, indeed: ‘Oh’. Did you even bother with a chaperone?”

“Oh.  _ Oh, no.  _ Am I in terrible trouble?”

“Mmmm. It’ll slide. So aside from the fact that they lit a fire in your belly and caused you to squirm uncomfortably while they talked about pleasing you, and marking you, and making babies with you, what was so terrible about the meeting?”

“Well, when you put it that way -- nothing. Although Lucius did sit me on his knee for our conversation. I wasn’t quite sure what to do . . . but he was very kind, and terribly patient . . . and Draco noticed I was wearing his favorite shade of green again . . .and he kissed me, and my knees went weak.”

“Aha. You had a good time, didn’t you, up until you didn’t know what to do?”

“Minerva, why couldn’t you have  _ told _ me what to expect of the second half?! If only I had  _ known _ !”

“You weren’t  _ supposed _ to know, dear. Your first kiss was supposed to be spontaneous, at least for you. It was supposed to make you weak in the knees! If you’d known what was coming, you’d have been a wreck. You probably wouldn’t have even remembered the kiss.” 

  
  


Hermione sighed. Her memory of the kiss had made her feel much, much better; so much so, in fact, that her brain began to whir and spin. Questions began popping into her head, and now seemed like an excellent time to ask them. “When they said, ‘she shall sleep in our bed,’ did they mean one big bed? Or was it metaphorical?”

Minerva McGonagall sighed deeply. Honestly, she had been married far too long ago and for far too short a time for this new, sexually charged environment not to affect her. 

“I’ll have some dinner sent here for you, and after that you’re going straight to your room for the rest of the night, young lady.”

The professor herself went to bed early that night, weary to the bone. It was time for more help.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our fearless heroine is not going to be a glorified baby machine or subjugated otherwise!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Chapter 9 - Monday Morning

Which is why, when a frantic Hermione showed up at her door before sunrise with a new summons for a one o’clock visit Minerva McGonagall sent one of her own to Astoria Greengrass, inviting her to breakfast.

Hermione showered, tamed her curls, put on a bit of make-up, and otherwise prepared herself for the afternoon visit. Not wanting to be shown up again, Hermione had chosen several potential outfits by the time Ginny arrived. None were up to the redhead’s standards.

“No, you’re going to wear your uniform. Emphasis on the form,” decided Ginny.

“Nothing figure-baring!” Hermione reminded her, “Or above the knee, or with too low of a décolletage, or-”

“I  _ do _ know what I’m doing. Now shut it!” Ginny’s face took on a look of intense concentration as she began transfiguring Hermione’s school clothes. When she was done, Hermione found herself in front of the mirror staring in amazement once again. For the first time in eight years her grey pleated skirt hung gracefully; it was modest but showed the length of her slim legs. Her sweater followed her curves without looking thinly spread and its V-neck dropped to show a hint of her small round breasts; it framed her dragon charm necklace perfectly. Even Hermione’s riotous hair had been tamed into submission, pulled up and away from her face by a grimly determined Ginny.

“Now off you go. You can thank me later by learning to do this yourself. Soon. I mean, what are you, five? No hugs! Go on!” Despite her harsh words, her best friend was grinning as Hermione left to find her chaperone.

Harry dropped her at Dumbledore’s office in his typical good-natured way. Hermione gave him the hug Ginny had denied her and impulsively blurted, “Now, go and do something nice and naughty to Ginny. I’ll ask Minerva to bring me to class. See you at lunch!”

She entered the Headmaster’s office and paused when she saw Astoria Greengrass, but Minerva motioned Hermione to the table with a crisp wave of her hand. “Good morning, my dear. Sit down and have something to eat. It seems Astoria is also glad to have a peer to talk with about her upcoming nuptials.”

“It’s true.” Astoria looked up from the serving of porridge she was daintily preparing and nodded to Hermione. “We’re the only two witches to receive stakes this year. I’ve often wished I wasn’t the only one.”

Hermione took a moment to study the lovely blonde witch sitting across from her at the small round table. Astoria Greengrass was an intimidating witch; besides being beautiful and poised, her demeanor was reserved. She was a year younger and in Ravenclaw, and therefore removed from Hermione’s social circle. The two certainly weren’t friends; they had never even talked.  _ Minerva is trying to help me _ , she reminded herself.  _ Astoria is both a Bespoke Witch and a Pureblood; she’ll have all kinds of information and insight. _ She sat down at the empty place setting, filled a plate with cut fruit, and gratefully accepted the tea Minerva offered her. Then, focusing on the logical basis for this meeting she asked, “How long have you been betrothed?”

“My ceremony was the same day as yours, only it was held at my family’s estate. I waited a while until I accepted it, though – it was presented to me last summer.” 

“That sounds just a bit more reasonable,” she said around a mouthful of fresh pineapple. “I’d never  _ heard _ of a stake and when the Headmaster asked me if I accepted it, I said ‘yes’ like a complete idiot because I thought he wanted me to hold it for him!”

Astoria gave a small smile, the edges of her cool reserve visibly thawing. “Yes, you did do things backwards. What happened then?”

“I panicked, ran out, talked with Minerva and found out I had legally bound myself to two wizards whom I’d never really met. Then I panicked again for a good bit.” The short explanation was amusing even to her own ears and she shared a small grin with the Ravenclaw witch.

“And then you went to the Slytherin party,” offered Astoria knowingly. “I saw you there. You and Draco were off in your own world the entire time. You didn’t look panicked  _ that _ evening.”

Hermione sighed as she remembered that night. “It was like a perfect first date.”

“Only you’d already engaged yourself to him!”

“And his father, too!”

The two girls laughed together and the ice was officially broken. Her new friend confided, “You’re a very lucky witch, you know.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” muttered Minerva McGonagall.

Hermione wasn’t sure she followed. “What do you mean?”

“Lucius is a  _ very _ attractive man,” Astoria’s tone was quite . . .  _ appreciative _ . “And so is Draco. I’m not complaining about my future husbands in the least, mind you, but  _ Circe, mother of magic _ did you score with the Malfoys! I’ll bet every witch in England will cry when they find their favorite bachelors are off the market.”

Hermione’s mind was assailed with the memory of her first kiss from Draco, and in an attempt to regain control of her traitorous thoughts she busied herself with a nearby tray of toast. 

“Oh, you’re a blusher! I’ll bet they love that. Well, not to worry – you won’t be for long. I’m sure by next week they’ll be teaching you all kinds of wicked things and you won’t even bat an eyelash.” At the word ‘wicked’ she gave a corresponding wink, shocking Hermione. What had happened to the reserved witch she’d met upon arriving at this breakfast? Astoria noticed her expression and made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry if that was too forward. I feel at ease with you and went too far.”

Now Hermione felt badly. “No! Please, it’s so nice to have someone to speak with about all of this. I don’t mind your teasing. Would you pass the marmalade, please?”

“You don’t have any sisters, do you?” The blonde witch handed over the requested item with a kind but knowing smile.

Hermione sought refuge in the normalcy of spreading conserve on toasted bread. Eyes trained on her hands she replied, “I’m an only child, and my parents are no longer living.”

“That makes sense.” Astoria poured herself some tea and refilled Hermione’s cup as well. “I’m used to talking with Daphne about everything. She married Blaise Zabini last fall, so I’ve heard more than my share of what happens behind newlywed bedroom doors. Oh, Hermione! You must have so many questions! Please let me help if I can.”

There was in that moment such a sense of safety! Minerva smiled kindly, her attention divided between the morning edition of the Prophet and the conversation, Astoria served the tea with graceful precision, and the air itself was laden with the comforting scent of breakfast. Hermione recognized the opportunity before her as unique.  _ We’re the only two Bespoke Witches at Hogwarts. _ Such an offer might not be made again, especially if she took offense to innocent teasing. After a very brief hesitation, she asked the first question to pop into her head. “Okay, were the acceptance vows literal or figurative? Because they were beautiful but potentially troubling.”

Astoria shrugged. “I think each ceremony is different. The Malfoys undoubtedly used the traditional vows of their House. Can you be more specific?”

_ I can think of several very specific things. _ “I’ll just start at the beginning and you can start translating.”

Hermione recited the eight lines of the vows without commentary. Astoria’s mouth dropped open. Minerva summoned a decanter of firewhiskey and added a few drops to her coffee. The sound of heavy breathing became quite distinct.

Astoria tried to collect herself but she had clearly been affected by the Malfoy’s choice of vows. “ _ Mother of magic _ . . . ” she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began again. “Sweet Merlin _ ,  _ Hermione. That’s . . .  _ wow _ .”

Hermione took the opportunity to put the conversation back on track. “So do you see where I might be concerned about whether or not these are literal?”

Astoria and the professor traded glances. Minerva murmured, “She has no idea.”

“I’m quite sure most of it is literal.”

At her cry of panic, her new friend hastened to reassure her. “There’s nothing alarming about these vows. Hermione, listen to me! These are some of the oldest binding vows known to exist. I know about them because Blaise gave Daphne a book of erotic poetry as a wedding gift and there was a chapter filled with old binding vows. Yours were in there. I think they’re really hot.”

“Yes, yes, they’re ‘hot’! Look, Astoria – I’m not ready for any of that; I wasn’t before . . . ” she made a vague gesture in the air with her fork, “ _ this _ happened! Now not only am I forced to contemplate physical intimacy, but intimacy with  _ two _ wizards I  _ barely know _ on a fairly specific date! Which is only two weeks away!” As the light of comprehension dawned on Astoria’s face Hermione defended herself quickly, “I’m not a complete idiot about sex. I know the mechanics, and I understand the human physiological response to sexual stimulus.”

“What you  _ don’t _ know is how to think of sex as it relates to  _ you _ . It’s not something you’ve thought about,” Astoria supplied in a quiet, considering manner. She seemed to sense Hermione’s discomfort, though, because she added, “let’s just focus on your vows for now.”

Hermione nodded gratefully.

“Let’s walk through it as a lesson in Pureblood tradition, shall we? It’s easy to forget you don’t know any of this; you certainly have a reputation for knowing everything else. Okay, first of all, there’s the part about your dwelling. That’s not scary at all – you’ll be brought to Malfoy Manor to live. You’ll love it; it’s a beautiful estate. I’m sure I’ll come to visit you often there, as the Malfoys and Notts have been close for generations.”

Hermione sat expectantly as Astoria continued, “Your wizards promise to bathe you in glory. This is probably metaphorical, but let’s not rule out a more literal interpretation! As I’m promised to be married it might not be appropriate for me to say this, but the thought of sharing a tub with those two men gets my knickers wet.”

_ We’ll be married, and married people do those kinds of things _ . Hermione felt she had rationalized that quite well. She couldn’t help but notice that Minerva’s expression was the same heated one she’d worn when Molly had described Harry’s visit with his girls.  _ My favorite professor is enjoying this _ .

So was Astoria, judging by the look on her face. “Your wizards are going to spend a great deal of time making babies with you. Gaaah . . . sorry, moving on . . . You’ll always sit between them, which is traditional for a House Wife, and obviously you’ll sleep with them. I’ve heard that long ago in some ancient families there was a House bed, which was shared by all the spouses, but I don’t know if that’s still done. I could ask Theo if you like . . . anyway, if this is the vow that was used, you’ll be marked magically by your wizards as proof of their ownership—”

“I belong to no one but myself!” Hermione had never felt so outraged as she did in that moment!

“When you accepted, you gave yourself to the House of Malfoy and were received much like a spoil of war. Do you not understand the significance of the stake? The Malfoy wizards offered their lives to Dumbledore in service to his cause in exchange for the right to pursue your hand. Dumbledore accepted the offer, which means he considered their alliance to be of the same worth as your life.”

“You’re saying the Headmaster used me as payment of a debt!”

“No, not at all,” Astoria said in the patient tone generally reserved for children and the mentally incompetent. “He gave you to his champions as a great prize.”

“But I had a right to accept or refuse!”  _ I am no man’s prize! I will not be ‘given’ to anyone! _

“They are as Bespoke for you as you are for them. I have no doubt that any refusal would have been temporary. Think of the few times you’ve met Draco. Weren’t you drawn to his looks, captivated by his manner? He made your heart race, I’ll bet. And Lucius – did he leave you breathless?”

Hermione paused her inner tirade and looked at her new friend suspiciously. “How could you possibly know that?”

“That’s how I feel about the Nott wizards. They make me weak in the knees and ready to do whatever they want. I belong with them, and they own me. Oh, and don’t forget the last line – about your pleasure being theirs, too! Give your courtship a few days – when they’ve got you moaning with pleasure and begging for-”

Hermione’s hand flew up in the universal gesture for  _ STOP! _

Astoria changed tactics. “Hermione, let me finish! It’s not a bad thing! First of all, when I used the term  _ ownership _ , I just meant that your wizards are going to feel very possessive towards you. Your handmark will fade in time, and obviously they’ll want to give you something a little more permanent than a ring. Something that will scream  _ taken by us _ . They don’t legally own you, of course. That would be weird.” 

“Yes, Astoria,  _ that’s _ the weird part.”  _ Do Ravenclaws even understand sarcasm? _

“Secondly, your wizards will take care of you as they would any other priceless treasure-”

Astoria paused for breath, giving Hermione the chance to interject, “But I’m not a  _ thing _ !”

“Hermione, you seem to be upset by the oddest parts: lots of sex, being cared for, having someone go to war for you, even more physical pleasure, being highly valued . . . I really don’t understand.”

“Well when you say it like that it all sounds very reasonable!”

“So we do agree! I’m so glad you’re coming to see things in the right light. We House Wives must stick together.”

Hermione was confused. Either Astoria had just cleverly won the argument, or she had proven to be as loony as Luna. Whichever was the case, her new friend had given her much to think about. 

Minerva’s composure had been restored now that the conversation had veered from anything steamy. “Well, I think you’ve been given enough to think about for one day, my dear. Shall we meet again tomorrow morning?”

She was right – Hermione had enough to keep her mind spinning for the next twenty-four hours, and it was almost time for class. The three left the office together. Astoria parted with them at the bottom of the stairs, giving Hermione a quick hug paired with a promise to be at breakfast the next day, and the professor escorted her to her first class.

Hermione’s altered uniform, even partially hidden by her robes, caused a stir among her peers, judging by the lingering glances of witches and wizards alike.  _ Have I really dressed that badly all these years? _ When she finally slipped into her seat in Ancient Runes beside Harry and Luna, she was feeling decidedly self-conscious. Pretending not to notice the continued general interest in her outfit she busied herself with preparing for class, ignoring the fact that her brother-figure had his hand up Luna’s skirt.

“Good morning, you two - did I miss anything important at breakfast?”

Harry gave her a grin and turned his attention immediately back to Luna’s thigh, but Luna looked up from the book she was reading with a sweet smile. “‘Lo, ‘Mione! Well, we had those yummy scones you like so much, Ron was a complete arse, and Slytherin lost twenty points because Draco hexed him.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Okay. Have you noticed how different Draco’s been acting lately? I wonder if he’s got narleywickets . . . ”

“ _ Sshh _ !” Hermione looked furtively around in fear that someone might overhear. She whispered, “I haven’t really seen much of him, except at the party and then the ceremony yesterday. What’s he been doing?”

“Oh, you know. Glaring at any boy he catches looking at you, daydreaming in History of Magic, hexing Ron – he can’t possibly like you any more than he did before you accepted his stake and he knows you’re his witch now, so I really think it might be a case of narleywickets.” Luna jumped suddenly and made a breathless noise. She turned to Harry. “Will you do that again, please?”

Perhaps she  _ did _ want to know. “What?”

“He pinched my nub.” Luna beamed beatifically.

Hermione winced and clarified, “No, I meant  _ what did Ron do at breakfast _ , Luna?”

“The same things Ron always does when you’re not around. You know. Oooh, like that!” 

Realizing she was losing Luna’s attention, Hermione pressed on with determination. The idea that the boy she’d liked for so long might behave differently in her absence had never occurred to her, and now she found herself curious. “Actually since I’m not around, I don’t.” Leaning forward to glare across Luna at Harry she added, “Could you please just wait until we’re done?”

Luna continued their conversation without batting an eye, as though chatting with a friend while being fingered by a boyfriend was a perfectly ordinary thing. “Oh. Well, that’s true. Hmmmm . . . he wondered where you were, and we said you were in a meeting with Professor McGonagall, and then he got mad. He said when he was ready to settle down he’d see to it you knew your pla-”

“ _ What?!” _

Luna continued in her usual dreamy tone as if Hermione hadn’t interrupted furiously. “And that when he made you his, he’d see to it your time was better spent.”

Hermione controlled her anger as best she could, but her hands clenched in white-knuckled fists and she bit clean through her lip. The taste of blood calmed her somewhat.  _ How dare he? How dare he think I would wait for him to . . . to ‘settle down’?! _ Except, in her heart Hermione knew she had been prepared to do just that until very recently.  _ Draco hexed Ron for saying those things. He looks out for me.  _ She didn’t hear a word of the excellent runes lesson that day. On the plus side, she remained oblivious to the goings-on of Harry and Luna.

Herbology was next. Draco was in this class but his workstation was at the far end of the greenhouse. Today there was no actual work to do other than a quiz. Hermione flew through hers and then went back to triple check her answers. She was still done well before anyone around her. She handed her papers to Professor Sprout and was walking back to her station just as Draco got up to hand his in. Their eyes met and Draco smiled, then ducked his head. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and she kept her eyes on him to see if he would look up again. He caught her gaze a second time just as a wayward thought crossed her mind, one involving the two of them gazing at each other from opposite ends of a steaming tub of bubbles _.  _ Realizing what she had been thinking at that moment, she flushed dark red. She fled back to her spot and kept her eyes trained downward the rest of the class.


	10. Monday

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Chapter 10 - Monday

Lunch was weirdly nice. Ron was still in the infirmary, allowing Hermione to talk freely with Harry and his girls. She hadn’t seen much of the redheaded wizard lately and so she hadn’t had a chance to tell him of her betrothal. Hermione felt awkward keeping it from Ron, yet uncomfortable at the idea of sharing this news with him. It just didn’t seem to be any of his business in light of all the information she’d learned from Molly and Luna. He’d find out soon enough.

Her friends agreed; Ginny was even vehement about it. She informed Hermione that traditionally it was the witch’s choice to publicize the engagement or not, and so she should take advantage of the time to adjust.

As if two weeks was enough time to adjust for  _ anything _ ! “Won’t it be announced by the Malfoys?”

“The wedding will be the official news-breaking. Until then, it’s up to you. My mum says she’d prefer for Ron to find out later, anyways, so he doesn’t make any more of a fool of himself. I think she’s looking forward to setting the rest of the boys on him.” 

Hermione made a mental note of several questions she suddenly had for Ginny.  _ Maybe I can convince her to give Harry a break later this evening. _

Ron being gone meant that Harry took full advantage of - well, Ron’s sister. And Luna. Normally his presence would have put a slight damper on their antics, and in his absence the three were putting on quite a show. Luna sat on the table in front of him with her legs hooked on his shoulders, letting him suck cream pudding off her fingers. Ginny leaned over Luna’s left leg, licking Harry’s lips clean with each mouthful, and her hand was moving inside his unzipped trousers. Harry’s hands were under Luna’s robe, and it was obvious by her writhing that he was playing with her nipples. Hermione had seen far worse but this was the first time it affected her. She felt a tugging sensation deep in her gut and squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. 

She tried to find somewhere -  _ anywhere _ \- else to look and instantly found herself locked in Draco’s gaze from the Slytherin table, which was behind the backs of her friends. He seemed to sense her plight, because he blushed deeply but held her eyes. His lips began curving into a beautiful smirk and Hermione wondered what it would feel like to finger-feed Draco pudding. It was her turn to blush. How much time passed while they smiled and gazed at each other? Neither ate a bite of their meals, and what finally broke their shared reverie were the soft choking sounds coming from Harry. Hermione looked at her friend in concern, only to realize too late that Ginny had accomplished her goal. The redhead sank to her knees under the table just as the Headmaster dismissed the students from the Great Hall.

Hermione was at a loss for a few moments. Harry was obviously unable to perform his duties as chaperone at the moment and she needed to get to Dumbledore’s office for the visit with the Malfoy wizards. Draco caught her attention and indicated that she should head toward the back of the hall. 

She walked the length of the table through the crowd of bustling students slowly, a nervous flutter growing in her stomach with every step. Aside from their traded glances in Herbology they hadn’t interacted since that sweet, overwhelming kiss that had sent her fleeing from the acceptance ceremony, and now she was assailed by the reality of the situation once more.  _ I’m getting married to two wizards I don’t know in two weeks. _ Then she was at the end of the Gryffindor table and Draco was approaching her, and the fluttering in her stomach increased to wild flapping.

Grateful for the cover provided by the milling crowd Hermione set her book bag on the end of the table and pretended to check its contents. From the corner of her eye she saw a flash of realization and something that may have been disappointment pass over his handsome face. He, too, set down his bag and began a mock-search through it, speaking almost too quietly to be heard above the general commotion. “Miss Granger, I think your ‘brother’ is indisposed. Perhaps we should wait for the Headmaster and walk with him.”

Hermione had forgotten the pleasant timbre of Draco’s low, husky voice and she smiled in spite of herself. It hadn’t been difficult at all to talk with him at the Slytherin party, and this was no different!  _ And just like then, I won’t think about anything that’s going to happen past today, _ she decided.  _ We’re just two people getting to know each other.  _ “Good idea. I’m so sorry about that - I don’t understand why someone doesn’t  _ do something _ about his antics.”

“You’ve no need to apologize on his behalf. He’s a war hero; the rules are different for him. He’ll be able to do whatever he wants with his witches wherever he wants to do it for the rest of his life.”

She wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Ugh. And here I was hoping the real world would curb his public behavior.”

Draco blushed, looked at his feet, and smirked again. Hermione wondered what he was thinking about.

Professor Dumbledore must have anticipated their need. He walked through the crowds of students toward them. “Aah! Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy! Excellent -- we are due in my office, it seems. Will you suffer my company on the way?”

It occurred to the young witch in that moment just how true Draco’s words must be, because the Headmaster of the prestigious Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry hadn’t batted an eyelash at the sight of a post-coital Harry Potter, still openly fondling Luna Lovegood’s breasts while Ginny Weasley cleaned him up with her tongue under the table. She shook off the image. Some things really were best left ignored.

The three arrived at the appointed meeting place minutes later. Lucius was waiting at the door, leaning against the wall and swinging his walking stick. He bowed his head in silent greeting to them in a general way as the Headmaster opened the door.

There was a fire roaring in the grate, and the room was exceedingly warm. Draco and Hermione immediately shrugged off their robes. Formal greetings were exchanged, Hermione’s hand was duly kissed by each of her wizards, and she was whisked away to the chair in the alcove by Lucius. Once again, he sat down and drew her onto his knee. As they had the day before, his large, warm hands settled around her waist. His thumb brushed back and forth against the soft knit of her sweater-clad stomach.

“It’s good to see your face again, Lady. The last I saw of you was your hair streaming behind as you fled this place.” His eyes were smiling at her, but his mouth remained straight.  _ That look must be hereditary. _

Hermione blushed and bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy; there’s no excuse for my behavior yesterday. I won’t run from my own discomfort again. Did I offend you?”

Lucius raised his eyebrows and barely contained a smile. “Yes, I am afraid the ancient and noble House of Malfoy has suffered a great blow; one that can only be repaired by a kiss from the offending lady.” He tapped his cheek and twinkled at her.

_ He can’t be serious -- but great and mighty Merlin, if I don’t do it I’ll offend him for sure. And how is it both of these wizards seem to know that twinkling is my Achilles’ heel?  _ Hermione leaned in cautiously and brushed her lips against his cheek. Her brain catalogued the sensory input for later perusal.

As she began to draw away, Lucius brought one of his hands up to the middle of her back and the other to her thighs. He drew her further into his lap and tucked her body against his chest, guiding her head to rest on his shoulder. Now she found herself sitting across his lap like a young child might be held. Lucius wrapped his arms around her loosely and spoke into the hair on the top of her head. “Now, my prize, tell me about your time away from me.”

In this position, Hermione realized, there was no eye contact and therefore much less tension on her part. Yesterday, after the initial awkwardness, it hadn’t been difficult to talk with Lucius; now it was downright enjoyable.  _ And why do I suddenly like being called a ‘prize’?  _ She found herself telling him about running to the professor’s chambers, and about how terrible she felt when she realized she’d broken a rule. She told him about meeting Astoria, and of seeing Draco in Herbology. She even told him about the awful things Ron had said and Draco’s subsequent hexing of him. 

Today no bell rang while she spoke, and so it was quite a few minutes later that she realized she’d been talking for far too long. And that she found her new niche in Lucius’ arms quite comfortable.  _ Sweet Circe, how long have I been playing with the button of his jacket? _

Hermione raised her head slightly, catching his eye. “How rude of me to go on like that! Will you please talk for a while, now?” Then she hid back down against his shoulder, her nose buried into the fabric of his beautiful robes.  _ He smells divine. Almost as good as the war-stake. He’ll be my husband soon. Aaagh - think of something else! Anything else! _

Lucius spoke into her hair at length, telling her of his recent comings and goings. Since she knew nothing about him or his life, and because she needed to keep her mind on something slightly smaller than the elephant in the room, she interrupted from time to time with a question. He seemed to enjoy this, and they conversed for a long, long time. Eventually, though, the sound of the bell rang out from somewhere in the office. Lucius sighed and helped her to sit upright again. 

“I find myself looking forward to our next visit already. Perhaps it can be sooner that I had originally planned.”

Hermione smiled at him, relieved that their time together had been so . . .  _ nice _ . She nodded her head in agreement and, on impulse, kissed his cheek again. His hands tightened around her waist for a moment, and then he helped her to her feet. They stood together for a moment and the only sound was that of the Headmaster’s quill scratching across the parchment on his desk.

“I’m sure someone is growing impatient with my dawdling. Until next time, lady.” Lucius kissed her hand and excused himself from the room. Hermione was confused until Professor Dumbledore explained that the senior Mr. Malfoy would come and go from these visits according to the demands of his schedule.

Draco must have left at some point, because he reentered just as Lucius exited the door. He was carrying a tray laden with food and a pitcher of what could only be pumpkin juice. Hermione’s stomach rumbled loudly. He grinned and gestured with his head toward a table, which had been set up in front of the fireplace. Together they transferred everything from the tray to the table, and sat down to the small feast.

“Oh, this is  _ perfect _ ! Thank you, D-- Mr. Malfoy. How did you know?” She had almost used his first name, but something had stopped her. 

He gave her one of those smiles that completely lit up his eyes but didn’t quite reach his mouth. “Well, you didn’t actually eat anything at lunch, Miss Granger.” 

The memory of the lunch hour came back to her, and she was filled with a burst of giddy happiness.  _ He likes me very much, and I like him as well. He’s very thoughtful. _

Draco suddenly seemed to remember the Headmaster, who was still seated at his desk. “Won’t you join us, sir?”

Dumbledore looked up and twinkled at the two of them. “Alas, as I had no one to distract me from my own lunch, I find myself stuffed almost uncomfortably. I thank you for your kindness, though.”

Some time later, they finished and left the table for the semi-privacy of the alcove. Draco looked at the chair speculatively, and for a brief moment Hermione pictured herself sitting on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. The mental image morphed to something far less innocent, and in it his hands were toying with her breasts while she lapped pudding from the corner of his mouth.  _ Sweet Circe, I cannot believe I just thought that. _

Her face flaming, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the wizard beside her. He seemed to be having trouble breathing, and when she finally glanced up his face was as red as hers.  _ What could he be thinking that’s as embarrassing as that?  _ She gave herself a mental shake and proceeded to help them both out of this difficulty by transfiguring the chair into a small couch. It could have been a bit larger, but the alcove was small and she was still a bit rattled.

In the relief of the moment, Draco took her by the hand and pulled her to the new seating arrangement. It was a cozy fit. As was her custom, Hermione automatically curled up on the couch with her knees bent. In this position she faced Draco directly, her stockinged knees brushing against the fabric of his trousers.

She waited for him to speak, but he seemed to be at a loss. She watched him swallow once, then twice. Nothing. She was struck with the realization that he was as nervous as she was, and this caused her to blurt out, “I kissed your father. On the cheek. Because I was so sorry to have run out on your both yesterday. Shall I kiss you, too?”  _ Why is my mouth moving without help from my brain?  _

That offer was enough to bring Draco to life. He snapped his eyes to hers and nodded without hesitation. “Yes, please.”

“Where would you like me to kiss you?”  _ Merciful Merlin, take pity on me and seal my mouth shut.  _ Her nerves propelled her forward too quickly, and she fell against Draco, her mouth landing in the corner of his mouth. She remembered that she had kissed Lucius twice, and it seemed only fair to do the same to Draco, and so she kissed him again. He moved his head at the same moment, though, and caught her lips with his. It was a short, sweet kiss, but when they broke apart they were both short of breath.

She stayed where she was for a moment, her supporting hand leaning against the couch arm on the far side of Draco. The position caused her chest to press up against his. He grasped her by the shoulders and moved her back to her original seating, a wild look in his eye as he tried to gently put distance between them. 

Clearly Draco recognized the safety in conversation at this point, because it was his turn to blurt. 

“He could be my brother, you know.”

“What?”

“Abraxas could just as easily be my father.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Abraxas was Lucius’ father. Lucius was born to Calpurnia, and I to Narcissa. But Narcissa was bedded by both of them before I was conceived.”

“How is fatherhood determined for legal purposes?”

“I’m a son of the House of Malfoy legally. Still, people assume he’s my father. It’s more believable because of our age difference. Abraxas died before I was born, and Narcissa shortly after. Lucius raised me as a son, but I have always looked on him as a brother. It’s easier to go along with the misconception. And, you know . . .”

“Draco, I know it’s hard to remember this, but as a Muggle-born I don’t know  _ anything _ . Please, no matter what we’re talking about, try to talk to me as though I’m an idiot.”

He flashed her a beautiful smirk at her and continued.

“Well, what do you know about the succession of House Wives?”

“Umm, nothing at all. Although it occurs to me that your family hasn’t had one in, what -- nineteen years? Why the long wait?”

“If he had managed to find a Bespoke Witch earlier I would have been too young to wed. The marriage laws of the ancient Houses are quite firm that a witch must be sixteen to be wed, and a wizard must be eighteen. That would have left Lucius in a common marriage until I came of age. And then I would have been marrying a witch at least sixteen years my senior. His instinct told him to wait.”

“If he had remarried, what then?”

“Any child born to that marriage would be in violation of the Malfoy covenant. I would have been left as the last of my House, which is a risk no wizard from a family such as ours wishes to take.”

“So he waited nineteen years to remarry? Surely he had relationships with other women in the meantime.”

Draco looked as though he was shocked but trying to hide it. “The traditions of the ancient Houses are quite clear on this point: wizards are to remain faithful to the hope of their Bespoke Witch. Then they are to help maintain the virtue of their witch until they are wed. If she is lost, everything reverts back to the first part -- remaining faithful to the hope.”

Hermione let out a sound of quiet amazement.  _ So much for them being sex addicts and perverts. They’re the purest men possible _ .  _ How is it that my questions multiply faster than they’re answered? _

“Wait -- you said a witch had to be sixteen, and a wizard eighteen. If that’s the case, why did you wait until now to redeem the stake?”

She turned her puzzled face to Draco to find him looking at her thoughtfully. “Would you have been ready?”

Hermione needed more of an explanation, and Draco didn’t disappoint. “Would you have left the war? Left school? Would you have been ready to accept the stake? Believe me, if you had been, we would have redeemed it on my eighteenth birthday.”

_ If Draco and Lucius had set this in motion last year, I would have laughed in their faces and run for my life. I’d still be in hiding. And he just admitted that he’s wanted to marry me for at least a year. _

He was still talking, though. “And no one should ever compel anyone else to give up what they love out of selfish desire. You’re the most brilliant witch of our time, and you belong here. You deserve to finish your coursework and graduate with every honor, and then you deserve to go on to do what you were meant to do after that. It’s been my hope that perhaps we can find a way to work together. We’re well-suited for it.”

His words made Hermione turn to goo inside. She was briefly in danger of melting off the couch and all over the floor.  _ He thinks I’m brilliant. He wants us to do great things together. I think I might want that, too. This man owns me. _

The topic, while unexpected, had set them on the course to relaxed conversation and any hesitation to talk about the courtship and impending wedding was gone. It was a relief for Hermione especially, because now she had yet another person who could help answer her questions.

“Tell me something else I don’t know.”

“Lucius is smitten with you.”

“Oh.”

“And I have a hard time waiting for my turn with you during these visits.”

She knew she was blushing, and bit her lip. Sometimes a little pain stopped the rush of blood to her head. “Ummm, we don’t have to wait for the visits to see each other . . .”

Draco gave one of his patented almost-smiles. “Do you think you could get Potter to tag along with us to the library to study later?”

“Yes - I have some reading that I need to get done for Arithmancy before class tomorrow - Harry said he’d take me there after dinner! You could . . . meet us there?”

“I’ll be there.”

Something occurred to Hermione. “Only . . .”

“What is it?” Draco looked like he was preparing to be disappointed.

“I sort of promised Harry he could bring the girls. And you know what that means . . .”

“I’m sure we can distract ourselves.” 

Professor Dumbledore needed to speak with her at the end of the visit, and so she said good-bye to Draco at the door. She returned to the Headmaster’s desk and was surprised when he handed her a small velvet box.

“I have approved this gift from the House of Malfoy on your behalf, my dear. Go on, you may open it.”

Hermione’s hands trembled slightly as she pried up the lid of the box. She gasped when she found a beautiful hair comb within, intricately wrought of silver and with several green gems set in it. 

“Oh, it’s lovely. Who is it from?”” She looked up to see the Headmaster smiling at her. 

“The gift was given in the name of the House, but Lucius delivered it to me this morning.”

“Shall I thank him, or both of them? Or is that something I need to relay through you?”

“Thank them by wearing it. Now let us get you to class! Enough of your academic time has been stolen for today.”

They left the office together.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Hermione floated on a cloud all afternoon, hardly hearing a thing in the rest of her classes. Every time she thought about the study date after dinner, she smiled to herself, and everyone around her noticed her happy mood. In between classes, she stopped in the loo and adjusted the sleeves of her robe with a Glamour charm. No one had noticed the mark on her hand yet, and she wanted to keep it that way.  _ At least for now. _

“What’s got into you, ‘Mione?” Asked Ron when they met in passing in the courtyard. She was on her way to Advanced Charms, and he to a newly added level of Care of Magical Creatures.  _ Honestly, he’s never been much of a student, but couldn’t he try just a bit harder? _ She felt guilty for having thought it immediately then wrapped both hands even more tightly in the long sleeves of her robes. She looked about for Harry, who had been walking a few steps in front of her.

“What do you mean, Weasley?” She had been skirting the formal address thing with Ron since the rules had been enacted. She usually tried for a sarcastic or jovial tone of voice, in the hopes that he’d think she was clowning about. It didn’t seem like he’d even noticed, fortunately.  _ Idiot _ .

“You’ve got a ridiculous smile plastered on your face - what, did you score extra homework in one of your advanced classes?” He laughed at his own joke.

“Something like that. Got to go.” She hurried on her way, left hand buried in her schoolbag.

“You should really wear robes that’re actually your size,” he hollered at her retreating form, “you look ridiculous in those!”

His words hit her, making her slow her gait, but after a moment she brushed it off and kept walking. He was just being stupid . . .

The afternoon flew by, and dinner was blessedly unremarkable. She avoided Draco’s gaze for the most part, not wanting to share her happiness with Ron. Ron was sitting across from her with his back to the Slytherin table in his usual spot, and he was stuffing his face happily. Hermione kept her eyes on her plate until the students were dismissed, at which point, she grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him from the Great Hall. She heard Ron grumbling something about how close she and Harry had become, and ignored it.  _ No time. No time! I need to brush my teeth - oh, and my hair! Can’t forget to bring along that parchment of Arithmancy notes I have on my desk, too . . . _

True to his word, Harry escorted Hermione to the library not long after. Ginny and Luna had promised him that that they would catch up soon. The two friends found a table in a quiet nook and set out their paper and books. Hermione found herself glancing repeatedly towards the opening to their area until Harry called her out on it.

“He’ll be here, ‘Mione. He’s either brushing his teeth or rubbing one out in the shower-”

“Harry James Potter, stop now. Keep your big mouth shut, or I will shut it for you.” She glared at him fiercely, and he tried unsuccessfully to smother his grin.

At that moment, Draco found them. She couldn’t help but notice his pale blond hair hung damp around his face, and Harry’s words replayed in her head. She blushed.  _ He could have taken a shower because that’s what he usually does after dinner. Not everyone’s as randy as the ‘war hero’. _

Draco looked relaxed. He had a pleasant smile on his face as he dropped into the chair beside Hermione, and he plucked her sleeve playfully after setting his school bag on the table. Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as he and Harry exchanged pleasantries. Harry quickly added a raised eyebrow and crude gesture at the end, and Draco flushed to the roots of his hair. She slid her eyes back to the paper in front of her.  _ Or, Harry could be right. Does Draco think about me like that? Of course he must - he wants to marry me. _

Hermione used all the willpower she possessed to switch her thoughts to a different track. Soon she was happily immersed in a complex arithmancy equation and unaware of everything around her. It wasn’t until a long time later that her surroundings slowly re-entered her consciousness. Draco was working at her side, and Harry and his girls were actually each in a separate chair  _ studying _ . She pushed her chair back and stood, and Draco looked up questioningly.

“I just need to find another source to cite for this essay, I’ll be right back,” she whispered to him.

“I need to stretch my legs, I’ll help if you like,” he countered. Harry caught her attention, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows.

_ ‘Knock it off,’ _ she mouthed at him. Still, her stomach fluttered. Without needing to communicate, the two walked off in the direction of the books needed. Hermione thought how nice it was that Draco knew the library as well as she, and that she would be spending her life with someone so well-paired to her.  _ Bespoke _ . The term suddenly had a bit of context.

They found the Arithmancy section and set to work, only speaking to point out a possible text or author. Finally, Hermione found exactly what she had been looking for. She turned to leave, but Draco took her hand in his and held her back. She turned, questioningly.

“What’s the rush, Miss Granger?” He asked her with a serious face.

“Ummm . . .”  _ Oh _ .  _ He wants to spend time with me without the others. Alone. “ _ Is . . . is this okay? I don’t want to break a rule . . .”

“Actually,” he was pulling her into the corner of the alchemy section, “we have a chaperone, and he is technically in the same room as us. As long as I follow the rules set for me, we’ll be fine.” 

He hadn’t dropped her hand, and Hermione gave his a gentle squeeze. Then her curiosity flared up. “Will you tell me your rules? You said you have more than I do -- why is that?”

Draco swallowed with difficulty and blushed, then said, “That’s because they’re quite specific. I’d rather not . . . please don’t . . .” 

Hermione felt terrible immediately. “Oh, I’m so sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable! I understand too well how that feels. Let’s talk about something else. The silver comb you gave me today is beautiful. I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

That was enough to ease the awkwardness. They must have talked for half an hour, all the while standing close and leaning into each other’s space. Draco’s thumb was rubbing circles into the back of her hand, and Hermione was having a hard time concentrating on anything else at the moment. They were still drifting together slowly, and now Draco’s forehead was touching hers. Their heights were different enough that as he had leaned in, she had arched her back to accommodate him. Her free hand took hold of his shoulder for support, and he wrapped an arm around her. The result was that Hermione’s torso was nearly flush with Draco’s, and the hands they still held were crushed to Hermione’s chest.

His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be breathing her in. He whispered, “Do you like to dance?”

“Yes, but I’m not very good at it.”

“Will you dance with me at our wedding?”

The way he said _ our wedding  _ sent a tiny, pleasant chill through her body, and she shivered slightly as she whispered again, “Yes.”

“I remember how you danced at the Yule Ball. And at the Slytherin party. It will be nice to finally be the one dancing with you.” His lips brushed against the edge of her mouth as he whispered to her.

_ I think I want you to kiss me. Please kiss me. _ She whispered back, and it gave the illusion that they were kissing each other. “I’d like that, too.”

He drew his forehead from hers and looked into her eyes. “I’d like to kiss you.”

She tipped her chin a little higher in the air, encouraging him. “Yes, please,” she echoed his words from earlier that day.

Just as their lips met, though, Harry interrupted. They stepped apart quickly and looked anywhere but at their intruding chaperone. “Sorry, you two, but Madame Pince is kicking me and the girls out. I explained about you, and she’s giving us half an hour for your sake. We might have gone a bit too far . . .”

Hermione snorted indelicately. “A  _ bit too far _ ?  _ May have _ ? Oh, Haaarrry . . .” Her frustration leaked into her tone.

Draco tried to help the situation. “It’s probably best; you still haven’t finished your Arithmancy essay.”

There had been very few times in her life when Hermione had considered saying  _ to hell with it _ when it came to schoolwork. Up until now, they had all been related to divination and Sybil Trelawney. Right now she was sure that given a choice between finishing her paper and kissing Draco Malfoy, she would say to hell with the paper. And it was for Arithmancy, her favorite subject!  _ That’s only because he’s such a good kisser. And says such romantic things. And- _ She shook herself out of the reverie.

“All right. We’d better get back to our seats.”

The rest of the half-hour, she remained focused on her essay. She was, however, aware of each and every time Draco’s arm brushed hers on the tabletop.

That night she dreamed that she sat on Lucius’ knee while Draco kissed her. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Chapter 12

When she woke the next morning, Hermione spent more than an adequate amount of time getting ready for the day. The idea that Draco, and possibly Lucius, would see her at some point caused her to ramp up her normal regimen, and she loosely knotted her hair up off with the aid of the Malfoy’s gift. The weight of the beautiful hair comb at the back of her head was a constant reminder of her evening with Draco and now, as Harry walked her down to the Headmaster’s office for her breakfast meeting, she felt prepared for anything the day might hold. 

Minerva and Astoria were already seated at the table by the hearth, just as they had been yesterday. Today, however, Hermione needed no invitation. She sat down and filled her plate, and the three ate in comfortable silence for some minutes. Astoria was the first to talk. 

“You know, Hermione, you’re going to have a lot of people suddenly wanting to be your friend when this is announced. You should prepare yourself.”

“Why would my marriage change my social standing?” 

Minerva jumped in, “You’ll be House Wife to the closest thing English wizardry has to royalty. Have you never noticed the way Draco is treated like a prince? That extends beyond the walls of Hogwarts, my dear. Astoria is right, you should be prepared for a rush of attention.”

At this point, there was a knock on the door, and Minerva went to answer it. Apparently she was needed somewhere urgently. “Girls, I must go see to this. Astoria, you are Hermione’s chaperone in my absence. Albus is in his rooms, of course. Knock on the door if you need him.”

After nodding at the professor, Hermione turned back to Astoria. “I’ll be gone from here by the time I get married, and then I’ll be with the . . . with my . . . with  _ them _ . And if they’re the ones who are so important, who’s going to bother with me?”

“Hermione! Once the honeymoon is over, the Malfoys will be dragging you all over the magical world - they’re going to want to show you off in every magical city that has a decent hotel. You’ll meet the pureblood crowd, the business crowd, and anyone else who happens to frequent the same social spots. As the Malfoy wife, you’ll be considered influential. Anyone with an interest in your family will see you as their way in.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t want that! Let’s talk about something else,” she ordered in a panicky voice.

“Okay. Oh - I’ll bet the sex will be  _ amazing _ , Hermione! Can you just imagine Lucius in bed?” Astoria’s eyes were gleaming as she spoke, and Hermione was so taken aback by the statement that she completely missed her friend’s artful diversion.

Hermione had felt a stab of some new, unknown emotion at her new friend’s interest in the Malfoys. It was brief but sharp, and felt almost like possessiveness. She tried her best to shake it. “Astoria! How can you even . . . isn’t that a bit wrong, that you’re thinking about sex with  _ my _ wizards? Why don’t we talk about your wizards? I don’t know the Notts, outside of Theo.”

Astoria looked chastened. “Sorry, I know that must seem inappropriate. All right, then, my wizards; I’m betrothed to the three Notts: Theodore Sr., Theo, and Nicholas, who’s a seventh year. I’ve known them most of my life, and was thrilled when I was given their stake. It’s the most perfect fairytale ending.”

She certainly looked enamored with the Notts. She continued, “I’ve always had the hugest crush on Theodore. As a child I followed him around for years at social functions, demanding to sit on his lap. He recognized me as bespoken quite early, and was always very kind. When I went off to school, I was put on the train with Theo and Nick and we fought the whole way to Hogwarts. We couldn’t stand each other for the longest time! That changed when I turned sixteen, and shortly after that, they cast their stake.”

“What was it like, before you recently accepted?”

“Honestly? I enjoyed it. The boys alternated between flirting and sulking, and Theodore wrote to me regularly. They never let me forget that they wanted me, and they did whatever necessary to keep others at bay. I knew I belonged with them; I just needed some time to grow up. Now I can’t wait to be with them. That  _ doesn’t _ mean I have forgotten the delectable Malfoy men! Now you tell  _ me _ something.”

“Draco and I met to study in the library last night.”

“Ooh, sounds cozy! I suppose your chaperone was there?”

“Yes, but mine’s Harry, and he’s the most depraved man in this castle.”

“What, The Boy With His Hands Up Two Skirts is depraved?” Astoria giggled.

Hermione decided that it was only fair to tell the blonde witch more. She said, “Draco and I kissed at our visit yesterday afternoon, and he tried to kiss me again last night. I can’t believe how amenable I am to the idea of being with him. It’s like I rally all my logic, and then when I see him it all turns to mush.”

“You’ll feel that way about Lucius, too, as soon as you get to know him. It was meant to be. When I kissed Nick at the acceptance ceremony, I think the earth stopped turning for a few seconds. And last year, I could have kicked him in the you-know-whats.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Probably? Hermione - that yummy, yummy wizard is going to spend the next week visiting you with the express purpose of breaking down your resistance. He’ll murmur sweet nothings in that sexy drawl of his until your eyes will cross. He’ll run his fingers through your hair, and up and down your back until you purr with pleasure. He’ll set a trap to steal a kiss, and you  _ will _ be caught in it.”

Astoria’s imagery was incendiary, and it felt as though a small flame had been lit inside her.

The meeting broke up shortly after that when Minerva returned from her task. She escorted Hermione to the doorway of her first class. The young witch paused to collect her thoughts and jumped when someone touched her elbow. Tugging away from the person, she spun around to face him or her. It was Draco.

“Sorry, but you didn’t hear me address you.”

“D-- ummm, hi! What are you doing here?” She glanced around the halls and realized passing time must be almost over, as only a few students scurried past them. Then she leaned into the DADA room and caught the teacher’s eye. He was new this term, and Hermione couldn’t be bothered trying to remember his name. He knew far less about the subject than she, and as much as admitted this to her when they first met. Since she had passed her N.E.W.T. for this class two years ago and had taken it merely to practice her skills, it didn’t seem much of an issue. Still, he was a teacher and might count as a chaperone . . . 

The young wizard sitting at the teacher’s desk immediately recognized her plight. He tried to look authoritative and held up three fingers.  _ The Headmaster must have told the faculty about me. Whew. Three minutes. That’s actually quite generous -- I wonder if anyone would notice if Draco kissed me . . . _ She physically shook her head to clear her thoughts.

Draco had been speaking, and she only caught the tail end. “ . . . is that all right?”

She looked up into his face, and all the little things she had been cataloging about him came to mind. _He’s so tall and handsome. His shoulders will be as broad as Lucius’ once he fills out a bit. What lovely eyes he has - they’re like the sea the way they change color. His skin is pale as milk; and his mouth - sweet Circe, his beautiful, beautiful mouth . . ._ _what is he saying? Am I drooling?_ She tried to focus on Draco’s words, still watching his mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“I need to kiss you. I mean! What?!”

Draco looked up and down the hallway and into the classroom before pulling her to the side of the doorway. He took her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers once, twice, three times. The little flame that Astoria had helped light inside her grew. Her hands reached his head and wove into his hair just as he was pulling away. He was grinning happily.

  
  


“I have to go. There’s to be a visit at lunchtime. Have Harry bring you to the Headmaster’s office.”

Then he was gone, leaving Hermione in a state unfit for class. She took the remaining time to calm her breathing and center her thoughts. When she walked into DADA ninety seconds later, she looked her usual collected self, but her mind was far away in a library alcove alone with Draco Malfoy.

She managed to avoid getting hurt during the two-period class, although her dueling partner hit her full-on with a particularly well-aimed babbling curse.  _ Honestly, who uses that curse in self-defense? _ Their professor couldn’t seem to get the counter-curse right, and since she was in no physical danger, sent her on her way with his apologies. Harry seemed to be wrapped in his thoughts when he met her at the door, and guided her to her visit without a word. She kept her incessant talking to a quiet mutter all the way to the Headmaster’s office and hugged her ‘brother’ good-bye.  _ At least I don’t have to listen to myself go on - my mouth seems content to run on its own. I wish Harry had paid attention long enough to help me - it’s not as though he doesn’t know how! _

Hermione took a deep breath at the door. One of the wizards present would know the counter-curse and quickly ease her plight. She entered, mind elsewhere and not even struggling to keep quiet. She could feel her mouth moving even as she tried to smile at her wizards and the Headmaster. As usual, the office was ridiculously warm. She shed her robes quickly, revealing her uniform.  _ Who knew a uniform could look so nice?  _

Lucius and Draco greeted her even as the words tumbled from her mouth.  _ This is an excellent opportunity to think about something other than the fact that I could be saying something regrettable. Sweet Circe, but my mouth is moving at an astonishing rate. _

“I’ve just come from DADA and  _ sweet merciful Merlin _ the new teacher is  _ completely inept _ . I cannot believe my partner thought a babbling curse might be effective in a duel, but then again it did keep me from annihilating her as usual. My mind just wasn’t functioning. I mean, it  _ was _ , but it wasn’t even in the classroom! All I could think about was kissing Draco and Lucius’ hands and how heavenly you both smell! Do you taste good, too? I might steal a lick sometime, just to see. Oh! I’ve been thinking about the binding vows, and maybe it isn’t so bad if they’re meant literally, because I’ve tried to imagine you two all wet and in the tub with me-”

Here she stopped speaking abruptly and heaved a relieved sigh. Lucius stood frozen before her, wide-eyed. Draco, too, was in a similarly motionless state, and his mouth hung open a bit.  _ Good heavens, I wonder what I was babbling on about!  _ Professor Dumbledore lowered his wand and cleared his throat.

“That’s better. Miss Granger, thank you for accommodating the Malfoys at such short notice. In light of the time, I have ordered lunch to be served here. Won’t you all join me?” He gestured toward the heavily laden table by the hearth.

The spell seemed to be broken then; her future husbands regained mobility and moved slowly toward the table. They both looked a little dazed still, but one pulled out her chair for her and the other draped a napkin across her lap. The meal began rather quietly. Hermione’s nerves had finally had enough.

“I seem to have said something offensive while under that curse. Please forgive me?”

Lucius met her eye, and she noticed that his eyes were smiling. “No offense was given at all, lady. You simply caught us off guard. Fortunately we weren’t dueling at the time. Speaking of that, please tell me about your new teacher.”

_ What did I say?! Oh well, surely Dumbledore knows how terrible whatshisname is . . . _

She replied, “Well, he’s very young, and it’s not exactly a job for the faint-hearted. I’m sure he’ll hit his stride soon. Hopefully.”

Lucius countered, “Not every dark arts defense scholar is fit to teach that subject. The school was lucky to have had Severus, even for just that one year. He was a brilliant man.”

Draco agreed, adding, “Did you know he was my godfather?”

They continued in that vein, and it wasn’t for several minutes of pleasant conversation that Hermione realized Lucius had steered them adeptly from whatever had stunned them earlier.

After lunch had been cleared, Dumbledore sat down at his desk with a large pile of owl posts. Lucius took Hermione’s hand in his and led her to his customary spot. She sank to his knee without prompting and felt his warm, strong hands wrap around her.  _ They’re so large they almost wrap the entire way around me _ .  _ I feel safe here. _

“My lady, I lied earlier.” The wizard had lifted one hand to her head and toyed with one of her wayward curls.

“About what, Mr. Malfoy?”

“When I said you gave no offense. In truth, the words you spoke under that curse cut me to the core,” he was trying to keep from smiling, she thought, and doing an excellent job of it, “and I crave recompense.”

Hermione saw where he was leading and followed willingly. It was an enjoyable game with Lucius. 

“Will you tell me how to make it right?”

“Perhaps a token of your affection might soothe my heart.”

She bit her lip in an attempt to keep a straight face. “Of course, like a lock of my hair, or maybe my handkerchief, or-”

“You are a  _ minx _ .” He said the word in a complimentary way, and Hermione believed him. After all, he seemed to enjoy teasing. She blushed even as she began to lean toward him. Lucius was keeping very still except for his eyes, which glanced from hers to her mouth. She kissed his cheek twice and he pulled her to her now-favorite position, tucked under his chin with his strong arms wrapped around her.

“One day soon you will miss your mark.”

_ He’ll murmur sweet nothings in that sexy drawl of his until your eyes cross. _ She inhaled his scent and smiled into the collar of his robes.  _ Astoria was right. _ “Undoubtedly, Mr. Malfoy. I think that will be the day to begin using your given name.”

Lucius chuckled, and the young witch felt the vibrations travel from his chest through her own body. “Then I hope you continue offending me so sorely, that we may test your marksmanship.”

His hand stroked over her hair and down her back.  _ He’ll run his fingers through your hair, and up and down your back until you purr with pleasure _ . “Now, tell me about my hands. You seem to like them enough to have complimented them earlier. What is it about them, hmmmm?” 

His fingers were softly stroking patterns across her back and sides, causing her to sigh pleasurably against his neck. His words suddenly registered in her head, and she struggled feebly to sit up. Lucius was having none of it and held her in place with another laugh.

“Wait, what? What did I say earlier?” She had ceased trying to escape and was back against his shoulder.

“Tell me about my hands, witch,” he murmured into her hair. His fingers roamed to her sides and lightly tickled.

Hermione clamped down on a shriek of laughter, and Lucius drew his head back enough so that he could look her in the eye. “My hands?”

There was no escape. The young witch took one of his large hands into both of hers, learning its shape and texture. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “They’re so much larger than mine. Look - you can fold your fingers down over my mine most of the way.” She had aligned their palms to show him.

“What else?”

“Hmmmm . . . they’re warm, and the skin is soft. You must not do much manual labor . . .?” Her eyes turned up to his questioningly. 

He was looking at her with an incredulous sneer. “I am a businessman, dear lady. I employ others to do my work for me.” 

Hermione looked back down at the hand she held. “Your hands are very gentle when you touch me.”

“Always,” he murmured, then added, “You forgot talented.”

“Hmmm?”

“My hands are very talented. I look forward to showing you the many things they can do.” His hand had taken both of hers by the wrists and drawn them to his lips, but he kept his gaze locked with hers. 

Hermione was blushing furiously. _He’s going to show me what he can do with his hands . ._. _I cannot believe he just said that to me . . ._ _I think I want him to show me . . ._ Lucius’ eyes devoured her face briefly, then he shut his eyes and swallowed. “You test my limits, Miss Granger. Perhaps you will tell me about your other teachers, now?”

Their former conversation resumed as Hermione played with a button on Lucius robes. They didn’t so much as pause until the bell rang. Her intended husband ( _ how would she differentiate between them - older husband? First husband? _ She wondered if there were established terms in place) sighed and helped her to her feet. The kiss he placed on the back of her hand was lingering, and he didn’t relinquish her hand until she rose on her tiptoes and pulled him down for one last kiss on his cheek.  _ He’ll set a trap to steal a kiss and you will be caught in it. I want to kiss Lucius Malfoy. _

Draco was wandering the office aimlessly. She came up behind him and tapped his shoulder. “Sir, are you looking for something?”

He gave an almost smile and his eyes beamed at her. “Found it.”

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

They stood and smiled at each other for a few moments until Lucius bade them both good day and left. Then Draco pulled her by the hand to the alcove and transfigured the chair into their preferred seating arrangement. They sank into it side by side, quite literally -- the couch seemed to be even smaller this visit.

It seemed that, as was their habit together, the two became instantly nervous. They blurted out simultaneously,

“What-”

“Sorry!”

You g-”

The tension disappeared immediately, and Hermione gestured for her wizard to speak first. He blushed and glanced down at her hand, then tangled his fingers with hers.

“About what you said earlier, I wondered if you had any questions.”

“What did I say earlier?”

Draco paused, still not looking at her. “When you were under the babbling curse, you mentioned the binding vows. Do you still have questions, or did Lucius already answer them?”

_ Great and merciful Merlin, did he just say what I thought he said? That I was babbling about the binding ceremony. Kill me now, since you didn’t kill me then.  _ The young witch tried to remind herself that, to pureblood wizards, this topic was, as part of their culture, perfectly acceptable. Except for Draco, who was as inexperienced as she.

If Hermione had interpreted correctly, Draco was trying to hide the fact that he was jealous of Lucius’ time with her. She felt a new tenderness for the young wizard, and she leaned down to his shoulder and kissed it. Then she laid her head on the same spot and drew her legs up to curl against his. Their hands, still intertwined, rested on her knees.  _ Maybe Draco and I can talk about this more easily if we employ Lucius’ no-eye-contact tactic _ .

“Lucius and I don’t talk about the courtship, or being married. Mostly he asks me about my day and teases me. I think he’s trying his best not to frighten me away.”

Draco said quietly, “That sounds like him. He can be very intense, and I think at this point that  _ would _ frighten you. And he is a terrible tease.”

“You love him very much.”

“Yes, I do. You will, too, soon. He’s the best man I know.”

“How do these kinds of marriages work? In monogamous ones, people get jealous and fight. Is that magnified when there are more husbands?”

Draco’s fingers were running over her knee, causing little shivers to run through her. “Jealousy isn’t exclusive to marriage, nor are fights. They occur wherever they’re allowed, I think. I won’t let them rule our marriage, nor will Lucius. Are you trying to ask if I’m jealous of him?”

“I don’t know . . . maybe?”

“No, I’m not. Of your time, yes. I want you all to myself. Then again, so does he. That will change when we can be together. No more chaperones, no more visits - just the three of us at Malfoy Manor.”

She shivered slightly at that thought. “I do have questions about the things you vowed at the ceremony, but I’m not sure if I can bring myself to ask you.”

“All right. Ask whenever and only if you want, or talk with Astoria - although I don’t know if the Nott vows were similar to ours.”

“How about if, for now, I just ask when the wedding will be?”

  
  


“Saturday evening after graduation, unless . . .”

“Go on.”

“Unless you’d be willing to forgo the graduation in favor of an earlier wedding. We could be wed on Friday, under the full moon.”

She’d heard of full-moon weddings. Held on the eve of the moon’s waxing, they could be of great portent, full of old magic, and were a favorite among pureblood families. Hermione raised her head to look at the young wizard. His handsome face was set in preparation of disappointment. “It’s completely up to you - whatever you want.”

_ He would let me ruin a tradition just so that I can hear my name called and honors announced. They’ll do that anyway, even if I’m not there _ . “I’d like a full-moon wedding. I don’t know much about them - we could research them in the library sometime soon?”

Draco’s face lit up like the sun, and his smile stretched across his face. “Absolutely.”

On impulse, Hermione leaned forward and kissed him. He made a contented sound and held the back of her head with his hand, holding her in place. She leaned her hands on his chest and forgot about everything except the synchronized movement of their lips. The bell rang, signifying the end of the visit, and the two reluctantly separated at the office door. The visit had lasted only ninety minutes.


	13. Tuesday Evening

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

_I’m going to be married in two weeks. Lucius wants to show me what he can do with his hands. Draco may or may have not masturbated in the shower last night while thinking about me. I’m marrying two wizards. When did I accept that last part so completely?_

The rest of Tuesday was a blur. She took no notes in any of her classes and couldn’t remember what she’d had for dinner. The visit with the Mal- With the- with _her wizards_ looped through her brain continuously. She vaguely remembered Harry’s presence during the course of the day, and now she realized he was here at her side, escorting her back to their tower in the post-dinner crowd.

Ron had been absent at dinner, and Hermione commented on that fact. 

“Oh, errrrr . . . I saw him sneak out the front doors of the castle as we made our way in to dinner. Him and Lisa Turpin,” Harry shamefacedly admitted. _Circe on a broom - Harry’s actually embarrassed about something. Oddly enough, it has nothing to do with himself._

“If it’s all the same to you, let’s not talk about Ron. I can’t help but feel he’s not the same person anymore, and I don’t want to dwell on it just now.”

Harry’s normally pleasant expression faded to one of grief for a split second, but he managed to keep his voice upbeat. “Absolutely! Good idea, ‘Mione.”

They were just stepping through the portal into the commons with a group of fellow Gryffindors, and Hermione caught sight of Ginny up ahead. The myriad of questions she’d been storing up about the Weasley’s stakes came to mind. _I’ll ask her right now._

First, she needed to explain herself to Harry. She pulled him aside. “I’m not asking you to choose between us, Harry. He’s your friend, and hasn’t done anything to you.”

Harry shook his head in disagreement. “’He _has_ changed. I’m not sure if I can be his friend for much longer.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “You and Ron have been friends from the start! Don’t do something you’ll regret, please?”

He looked appalled. “Something I’ll _regret_ ? Hermione, I _regret_ not doing something a long time ago, when he first started treating you so poorly. Do you think I didn’t notice? He and I have nothing in common anymore save Quidditch and Ginny. And Ginny doesn’t want anything to do with him.”

Molly Weasley’s words came to mind. _‘I do not think we can forgive him . . . Arthur and the boys [could] choose to disown him’._

“He’s an idiot, yes - but that doesn’t mean I want to hurt him. I don’t want to come between the two of you.”

Harry put his hands on her shoulders and stooped to look her in the eye. “Don’t try to protect Ron from the consequences of his own actions.”

“Let’s just do what we originally agreed, and not talk about him for now.”

“Deal.” He gave her a tight hug and turned toward the fireplace, where Ginny and Luna were snuggling on the couch.

Hermione beat him to Ginny by mere seconds. “You! Up in my room now!” She lowered her voice to a hiss and added, “I need to talk with you about stakes.” 

Ginny’s curiosity must have been piqued, because she only gave Harry a quick kiss before following her friend to the dorms. There, Hermione locked the door and cast a Muffliato before dragging Ginny to her bed. She flopped down along one side and motioned for Ginny to join her. The two lay side by side with their heads on the pillows, Ginny facing Hermione, and the curly-headed witch staring at the ceiling.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the Weasley stakes.” She looked accusingly at her friend. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Ginny groaned and covered her eyes with one hand. “I honestly didn’t know! It’s not something that’s talked about until acceptance or binding, or even the wedding. My mum obviously knew, but I _promise_ that she only just told me. And she probably only did that because she knew you’d want to talk to me about it.”

They lay there quietly for a few minutes. Finally Ginny said, “I know how you are, Hermione. You’ve probably got a bulleted list of thoughts and questions somewhere in your head, and it’s only going to get longer and longer. Ask me something.”

“Honestly, at the moment I’m stuck on the fact that Percy cast a stake for me.”

Ginny giggled. “Can you even imagine Percy in bed? He’d probably be worried about wrinkling the sheets!”

“No, but I can’t imagine any of your brothers in bed! They’re . . . they’re _brothers_ to me!”

“Oh, come on - how about Bill? He’s got that whole dangerous wizard thing going for him. What witch at Hogwarts hasn’t had a crush on him?”

“Me. Sorry.”

“Or Charlie? Think about how lonely he must get, out there on the dragon reserve with nothing to do but stay muscular and fit . . . nothing?”

“Not even a bit.”

“The twins might not be so bad, either, as long as they left their Wheezes out of the bedroom! Think how sweet they are.”

“No! None of them! That’s just . . . _not_ how I think about any of them. I know they’re your brothers, but _ick_!”

“Well, you pined after Ron for years, so you couldn’t have thought of _him_ as a brother.”

“You know, Ginny, I don’t know what I thought about Ron. Now, looking back, all I ever thought about was holding his hand, or cuddling on a couch. I don’t think that’s how someone feels about the person they plan to marry.”

“You mean that’s not how you feel about Draco, or Lucius.” 

“Mmmhmmm.”

“So, you want to do more than hold Draco’s hand, Hermione?” Ginny asked in a playful singsong voice. “You don’t want to just cuddle with Lucius on a couch? Whatever do you want to do with them, hmmm?”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at her friend even as she said, “Enough! Back to stakes.”

“Oh, yes - back to the fact that Percy wanted to-” Ginny was cut off with a pillow thumped over her head. “And Bill also wanted to-” 

Hermione thumped her again and raised the pillow in a mock-threatening manner. “I mean it!”

Ginny looked like she was trying to swallow her laughter. “Sorry, it’s just . . .never mind. Back to stakes.”

“Can six wizards really cast stakes for the same witch? Isn’t that a bit excessive? I mean, think about it . . .”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows and burst into giggles again before settling down. “Yes, that would be excessive, and it’s actually not at all what you’re thinking. They all cast stakes, but you wouldn’t have married all six of them. There are laws governing the ancient Houses and their Wives, and the first is that a House with more than four heirs will be split in two. That’s a well-known one - to purebloods, at least.”

She continued, “If Ron hadn’t screwed things up royally and the stakes had been given precedence, you would have been given the right to choose three, or even four, husbands. Whichever of my brothers had been left would have had to search for another Bespoke Witch, and then cast again for her.”

“Where can I find a copy of these laws? I’d like to see them for myself.”

“Honestly? I have no idea. Most of them are probably so old-fashioned that they aren’t even relevant any more. You could ask Lucius.”

“I could.”

“Hermione, I’m glad Ron didn’t cast for you.”

“I’m starting to feel the same way. I wasn’t meant to be with him.”

“My mum’s pretty sure he’s being weeded by the covenant. I’ll bet things get ugly this weekend.” Hermione looked confused, and Ginny explained, “He’s been called home.”

Hermione didn’t want to think about her ex-crush. She directed her thoughts back to the original purpose of Ginny being there and asked another question.

“Gin, what about your mother and father? I can’t even say it, but the thought occurred to me . . . _you know._ ”

Ginny made a sound of disgust. “Sex with my dad? Now _that is_ ick! Parents should never, _ever_ have sex, not even with a spouse. No, you wouldn’t have had to do that because my mum’s still living. They’re part of a current House marriage.”

Another thought occurred to Hermione. “Do you suppose that’s how Draco feels about Lucius?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s okay with it. After all, in order for him to get sex, Lucius has to get it, too.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Have you honestly given much thought at all to the sex part?”

“Not really.”

The two witches lay silently in the twilit room. Finally, Ginny turned her head again to look at her friend. “Hermione, I know you’re brilliant and well-read, and your dreams probably involve complex Arithmancy mixed with unreadable Runes, but you’re amazingly innocent.”

“I am _not_ \- I have seen with my own eyes what the human body is capable of, thanks to you three!”

“No, I don’t mean that. I’m sure you know all about tab A and slot B, and understand all the associated terminology more so than most of us. What I mean is, you don’t think about sex - fantasize about it - the way the rest of us do.”

“Astoria said something similar to me today. You’re right - I haven’t thought much about it until this week, and I still don’t know if I want to talk about it. Do you think- Is that bad?”

“Not at all. You’re what my mum calls a late bloomer. You just haven’t been interested until now. You’re exactly where I was a few years ago.”

_Great. I’m being compared to a sixteen year-old Ginny._ She tried not to be offended. Ginny was still talking. “Now that you’re suddenly aware of that stuff, you’re going to be more interested. The hardest part is that it can be embarrassing to talk - or even think - about it at first.”

“You can say that again.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Hermione was blushing as she sat up and pulled her friend into a squeeze. “Thanks, Gin. I might need that.”

Ginny reverted to her former teasing mood. “Oh, _believe me_ , you will! Those two will-”

“Out.”

Her friend left, leaving the sound of happy laughter hanging in the room. Hermione read and worked on assignments until the moon showed in the late spring sky. _Ten days until it waxes, and I am wed._ She washed her face and brushed her teeth, and climbed between the sheets of her bed. Sleep came quickly, along with dreams of dancing in a white gown with Draco, of giving herself to Lucius, and of sleeping in the arms of two wizards.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Wednesday

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday

Hermione woke early to the sound of an owl scrabbling noisily against her window ledge. When ignoring it didn’t work, she finally got up to take its delivery. It wasn’t until the window was opened that she realized how enormous the bird actually was. It was a full-grown eagle-owl, and, after dropping her letter at her feet, it flew to haughtily roost on one of her bedposts. She had nothing to offer it by way of payment, save some old chocolates, and the bird was unimpressed.

The young witch picked up the letter and ran her fingers over the heavy vellum, tracing the beautiful lettering on the front. It was addressed to Miss H. Granger, Gryffindor Tower, and the large wax seal was embossed with an ‘M’.  _ This is from either Draco or Lucius.  _ For a fleeting moment, Hermione wondered if a letter counted as a gift, and if she should open it without Dumbledore’s permission. Then her curiosity got the better of her, and she tore it open. It simply read,

_ Miss Granger, _

_ Permit me the pleasure of your company at breakfast in the Headmaster’s office. Seven o’clock. _

_ Yours, _

  1. _Malfoy_



_ Mine. _ She mouthed the word several times experimentally.  _ He’s mine. _ _ And he wants to see me this morning. _ Hermione sighed and glanced at her bedside clock;  _ now to begin the chaperone shuffle. _ She sent Harry a Galleon message, 1 _ hr. pls. _ , and shooed the owl out her window with a hastily scribbled reply to the affirmative.

It took nearly that amount of time for her to shower, wand-dry her curls, put on a bit of make-up, and find something to wear without Ginny’s help (and she ended up settling on her uniform in the end). When she descended to the commons, Harry was actually waiting for her, alone. They headed toward the door together.

“Where are the girls?”

He grinned smugly. “Sleeping. I think I wore them out last night.”

“Errr, well done, I guess. I wasn’t sure you’d even get my message. Thanks.” The two friends exited the tower and started along the castle hall towards the staircases.

“I needed to go to see Professor McGonagall before breakfast anyway, so it’s no big deal.”

“What about?” They’d managed to hop on to the top staircase just before it moved to its next location.

“I applied for a summer Auror apprenticeship a while back. There’s paperwork to fill out this week, and the professor’s going to help me with it.”

“I thought you were going to start that in the fall. It’s not like you need the money, Harry - your parents left you a small fortune! Why not spend the summer with the girls?”

Even though they were the only two living things in that part of the castle at the moment, Harry leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Lu’s pregnant. We’ll move into Grimmauld Place after graduation, and then get married some time this summer. A job is just another part of growing up.”

Hermione knew she shouldn’t be stunned - after all, she’d witnessed them attempting to procreate several times in the past month despite her best efforts to the contrary. Still, the thought of her friends becoming parents took her by surprise.  _ It’s only shocking because it’s not something I’ve ever thought about for myself.  _

“Congratulations, Harry! Does Molly know?”

“Yeah, we spoke to her Saturday, when she was here to see you. She’s over the moon; I am, too, actually.” He looked it.

_ He’s never had a family of his own - of course he’s excited. _ “What does Lu think?”

“She’s . . . you know how Luna is. I’ve never seen anything get her flustered. She just took it in stride, and began making talismans against odderknocks. Whatever they are,” he chuckled fondly.

“And Ginny?”

“Now  _ she _ wants a baby, but I told them I wasn’t having two pregnant wives at the same time on our first go.”

“That makes sense.”  _ It actually does. Harry’s going to be a wonderful husband and father. _ She voiced her thoughts to him. Harry smiled bashfully and playfully bumped her shoulder with his.

They’d arrived at the Headmaster’s office by now, and Hermione wished Harry good luck with his paperwork before pushing open the door. Lucius was hanging his hat on a rack and turned to her, bowing fluidly.

“Miss Granger.” He drew her into the office by her hand and led her toward the now-familiar hearthside table. “Pleasant day to you.”

He pulled out her chair, and when she as settled in it pushed her in. “Where’s Professor Dumbledore, sir?”

Lucius seated himself at her right, and was already pouring her tea. He nodded his head toward the open door to the Headmaster’s private quarters and winced. “He’s gone to change his socks. Apparently the ones he was wearing weren’t cheerful enough for a Wednesday.”

Conversation halted as the two filled their plates and began eating. Lucius angled his chair toward her, and alternately ate his breakfast and fed her bites from his plate. “Try this,” he would say, and brooked no refusal. She didn’t bother trying to decline his offerings after the first time. Lucius’ tastes in food were sophisticated, and Hermione was delighted with the new flavors.

He watched raptly as she chewed, swallowed and made approving noises, and for some reason this made Hermione blush. It was the most intimate act Hermione had ever shared with another person.

At one point, she didn’t quite catch the entire mouthful, and melted goat cheese ran down her lip to her chin. She was looking at Lucius when it happened, and saw his eyes darken before he blinked. He stopped her hand as it moved to clean her face. Instead, he leaned forward, still holding her struggling hand by the wrist, and swiped the mess from her face with one of his fingers. Then he looked at her again as he cleaned his finger with one quick lick of his tongue.

_ Sweet Merlin. _ For one brief moment, Hermione felt a need to kiss Lucius. She imagined tasting the tangy sauce on his lips, and the thought made her dizzy. Desire sprouted within her and tentatively spread. A second later her heart began pounding, and she panicked.  _ No! I’m not ready! _

Lucius had already turned back to his plate, and was calmly eating as if nothing had happened.  _ Maybe nothing did. _ Even as she thought that, she knew it was a poor lie. Astoria’s words came to her once again.  _ He’ll set a trap to steal a kiss and you will be caught in it. I want to kiss Lucius Malfoy. Just not quite yet. _

Professor Dumbledore joined them at the table shortly after, and talk turned to school, Lucius’ most recent business trip, and then the weather. It was the sort of talk that didn’t require one’s complete focus, and the young witch let her thoughts wander in between polite comments. Hermione was expecting the breakfast to end soon, when the Headmaster asked, “Have you talked with Hermione about the wedding ceremony?”

She was instantly attuned to the conversation. When she swiveled her head to look at Lucius, he was regarding her with a tender look. He answered, “Perhaps you will sanction some more time for us this morning, Albus?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Lucius stood and held out his hand to Hermione, and she allowed him to lead her to their chair in the alcove. When he had sat down, she sat across his thighs and then wriggled up higher to lean against his shoulder. For the first time, she wrapped the arm closest to Lucius around his back, tucking it between his body and the chair. The robes he wore today had soft velvet lapels and collar, and so she absently stroked the material with the fingers of her free hand.

He brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “Draco tells me you have agreed to be married under the waxing moon next week.”

“Yes.”

“The ceremony will be held at the Manor, and your dress has been completed.”

“You’ve chosen the date, the place, what I’m to wear . . . has  _ everything _ been decided already?” She struggled to keep her tone civil, even as she bristled at the idea.  _ I never planned to just show up to my own wedding _ .  _ I may have never thought about actually having sex with Ron, but I’d most certainly picked out our wedding flowers and my dress! _

Lucius was speaking into her hair in a soothing voice, and the sensation slightly distracted her from her irritation. “Of course not, pet. Those decisions were based on the demands of the covenant, and it is traditional in pureblood families for grooms to give their bride her dress. Yours was begun when we cast our stake, and has been waiting for you some time now.”

_ By my hand she will be clothed. Tradition is going to be a royal pain in my backside. _ She raised her head to give him a warning look. “If my dress is horrid . . .”

Lucius laughed outright. “I give you my word, it isn’t horrid. For the short time you wear it, you will more than approve.”

“What’s left for me to decide?”

“Not having been a bride myself, I honestly cannot say. I suggest you talk with Molly Weasley or Minerva McGonagall about that. They’ll be more than glad to help.”

Hermione’s orderly mind sprang into action. “Surely it takes more time than a week to prepare a wedding? Shall I make a list? Do I have a deadline?”

“Prepare a list, and have it to me by this coming Sunday. You have only to tell me your desires, and I will see to them myself.”

_ Is he even talking about the wedding ceremony? _ The tendril of desire that had sprouted at the breakfast table spread a bit more. His finger was tracing her ear, and she shivered in pleasure. Lucius murmured, “The favor of a full moon, the safety of our own dwelling, and a bride clothed by her husbands’ hands. The covenant is pleased, and the ancient traditions will be satisfied.”

Hermione realized any irritation she’d initially felt at what she’d considered to be presumptuous decisions had been quelled by Lucius’ explanation and her own responding logic. Now, she found that she was instead filled with a sense of urgency and determination. The fact that she was given free reign to accomplish whatever she could in a week helped.

Lucius sighed deeply, and Hermione realized their time must be nearly up. She tried to stall. “What will you do today?”

He squeezed her to his chest in a quick, tight hug and planted a kiss on her temple even as he stood. She slid to her feet reluctantly. It had been a nice visit, and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her wizard.  _ My wizard. Mine _ . The words sounded more believable in her mind this time. His arms were still around her, and he leaned down so that his chin rested on the top of her head.

“I’m taking a Portkey to Paris for a meeting this afternoon, during which I will undoubtedly think of you. That reminds me, I brought you something. Albus has it over on his desk. May I give it to you myself?”

Hermione blushed, and couldn’t keep from smiling delightedly. “Yes, please. If that’s okay with the Headmaster.”

“I assure you, pet, that I will not lead you astray of your rules.”

His gift was a single rose and he presented it to her formally, bowing deeply. The romantic gesture made her giddy. She took it from his hand with trembling fingers. When Lucius stood to his full height, Hermione immediately pulled him back down to her level for a set of kisses on his cheek. 

“Thank you! It’s lovely.” She added in a self-conscious voice, “It’s the color of your eyes.”

Lucius’ solemn mouth barely twitched, but his eyes danced playfully as he replied, “Perhaps it will help you to think of me, then.” 

_ Great and merciful Merlin, I am marrying a twinkler. TWO twinklers. I might just die from a twinkle overdose. _ “Perhaps it will.”

Lucius left, then, and shortly after the Headmaster walked Hermione to the base of the stairs, past a pair of carelessly thrown knickers, to where Harry was sprawled with Ginny straddling his lap. His hands were locked on her hips, seemingly in rigor, as she rolled and bucked her hips against him. Harry’s face was twisted in agony, and if Hermione hadn’t known better she would have thought he was in pain. Seconds later, Ginny slumped against Harry, and he let his head fall back against the stone steps with a small thud. 

The two finally noticed their audience, and Hermione rolled her eyes in aggravation. “Honestly, you two! I don’t need to see this right after breakfast!”

Harry opened his eyes and smiled blissfully. “Hi, ‘Mione.”

“Ah, to be young and in the arms of a beautiful man,” the Headmaster murmured to himself. He bid them all good day and returned to his office.

“Seriously! It was bad enough when you weren’t my chaperone, but can’t you at least restrain yourselves when there’s a chance Lucius or Draco might catch you? Oh, sweet Circe - he saw you, didn’t he? Lucius saw the two of you . . .”

Hermione closed her eyes in mortification then stormed over to the pair of knickers she’d passed on her way down the stairs. She balled them up in her fist and walked back to throw them at Ginny’s head. “Put those on! And go . . . do whatever it is you need to do so that we can head to class and pretend this didn’t just happen. Again.”

She took the opportunity to place Stasis and Shield charms on her rose, and then carefully slipped it into the pocket of her robes. 

Apparently a quick Scourgify was sufficient for her friends, and within five minutes Hermione and a very mellow Harry and Ginny were on their way.

Draco wasn’t in Herbology this morning, and so Hermione took the opportunity to spend the entire class daydreaming of Lucius, who might well be daydreaming of her. Later, as she waited for Harry to meet her at the classroom door, she reflected on her morning so far.  _ My best friend has knocked up one of his two girlfriends, and now he’s going to marry them both and start a sanctioned harem. I’m marrying two wizards in a little more than a week, and have four days to figure out what I’d like for the ceremony. I am forced to let Molly and Minerva help, because obviously I haven’t a clue about pureblood wizard weddings. Lucius can make my knickers damp simply by cleaning sauce off my face and licking his finger. _

One last thought occurred to her as Harry bounded down the hall to her side.  _ Lucius said I’d only be in my wedding gown for a short time _ .

  
  



	15. More of Wednesday

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday cont’d

Harry simply said, “Follow me,” when he met her outside of Herbology. He turned on his heel and set a brisk pace through the castle towards the great hall. Instead of following the rest of the crowd in to lunch, he beckoned her to the entrance hall, and from there to the main doors. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” 

Hermione followed Harry along the paved path towards the lake in silence until she caught sight of Luna and Draco far ahead, each carrying an armload of something. “What’s going on?”

Her friend grinned at her, pulling her along by the arm now. “Picnic! Who says Ron’s the only one who can sneak out during meals?”

Hermione gave a delighted laugh and broke into a run. “That’s brilliant!”

By the edge of the lake, and behind an outcropping of stone, Luna was spreading out a large blanket. Draco knelt nearby, rummaging through a large basket. By the time Hermione and Harry reached them, most of the work had been done. 

Draco stood as she approached, smiling in that happy-grave way of his. “Good afternoon, Miss Granger.”

“Hi.” Hermione had resolved to call him by his name when she next saw him, but his greeting threw her off.  _ I think he’s trying not to put any pressure on me. Or maybe he feels shy in front of the others. He can be very sweet. _

They stood there for a moment shyly. Draco finally said, “I hope you’re hungry. Luna and I asked for at least one of everything, and the house elves added even more. Please sit down.”

He was right. The four of them tucked into the meal now spread before them. Hermione noticed that Draco’s manners, which had seemed impeccable at their lunch together on Monday, relaxed in this informal atmosphere. For some reason, she enjoyed watching him forgo his fork to eat with his hands, and tried to keep from staring. She was amazed at the amount of food he ingested, and said as much. He treated her to one of his soft, husky laughs. “We had morning Quidditch practice, and flying always makes me hungry.”

“Me, too,” agreed Harry. 

Luna looked up from her Cornish pasty. “You know, I’m always hungriest after-”

Harry silenced her with a firm shake of his head and a change in subject. “Pass the roast chicken, please.”

Talk turned back to Quidditch. The last game of the year was on Saturday, and since it was to be a match against Gryffindor and Slytherin, both wizards would be playing. Harry asked Luna to wear a Gryffindor scarf for him, and Draco looked at Hermione speculatively. 

She squirmed.  _ Please don’t ask me. I can’t say yes right now, and I don’t want to hurt you. _ The expression on her face must have given him whatever answer he needed. He gave her an understanding sort of smile and turned to ask Luna if she would be announcing the game.

Eventually the conversation naturally divided in two, and Hermione and Draco immersed themselves in a bubble so tight it repelled all sound except each other’s voices. They had been talking about careers they’d considered. Draco was saying, “For a long time I wanted to be a Healer.”

She looked at his beautiful hands as they gracefully tore apart a roll. An image came to mind unbidden of Draco running his hands over her body.  _ I’d let you heal me _ . She blushed as if on cue. “That’s a lofty goal.”

“Do you think so?”

“Well, if you think of the hours, and the emotional fatigue Healers must endure. I don’t know if I could function in the midst of such suffering. What made you consider it?”

“I think it was because of the way Lucius raised me. Abraxas and Narcissa both died unexpectedly, and so Lucius alternated between panicking every time my nose ran to trying to toughen me up with all kinds of rigorous drills. He learned to heal all my childhood illnesses and injuries, and by the time I entered school, I knew all kinds of useful remedies. Staying alive was important to Lucius, and I think that transferred to me.”

“So what about now? I mean, what are you leaning toward?”

Draco gave her a blinding smile. “I love potions work. Severus was a brilliant teacher, and I forgot all about being a Healer after that first lesson in his classroom. Do you remember his speech?”

She laughed delightedly. “ _ Bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses _ ?* That man was a master of words!”

“ _ ’Bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death’ _ .” His smile faltered as he finished the quote, and Hermione realized that Draco must miss his godfather very much.  _ Another person taken from him _ . She tried to steer the conversation gently back to lighter waters.

“What about Lucius? Does he enjoy potions as well?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Lucius is shite at potions. He’s too intense. Volatile, really.”

“He seems so poised!”

“He has a lot of self-control, and usually keeps his emotions to himself. And, I think you have a calming effect on him. Potions, however, are far too sensitive for his personality. Severus wouldn’t even allow him around when he was brewing!”

The sounds of Harry and Luna arguing good-naturedly about something eventually filtered through and dissolved their bubble. Draco was just finishing his last plate of food as the others packed up the remains of lunch. He flopped back on the blanket and gave a contented sigh. Hermione followed the lines of his handsome face until he opened his eyes and caught her in the act. Draco looked triumphant, and he murmured something so quietly that she only saw his lips moving.

“What’s that?” She asked in a low voice, leaning forward to hear.

He murmured only slightly louder, smirking, and she moved even closer. “Say it again?”

She was leaning directly over his smiling face, now. Draco raised his voice enough for her to hear him say, “I need to kiss you.”

_ My words to him, in the hall yesterday.  _ Hermione blushed and glanced over at Harry and Luna, who were now skipping stones at the edge of the lake. Then she looked toward the castle, which was blocked from their view by the rock formation.  _ No one can see us - that’s why they picked this spot. _

She was momentarily distracted, and said softly, “Thank you for giving me time to adjust before . . .” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the castle.

Draco responded, “I understand the need to be away from prying eyes sometimes.” 

“I’m still working this all out myself; I’m not ready to share this with anyone else quite yet.”

“At the moment the only one I’d have you tell is Weasley. He thinks he owns you - and don’t think I don’t know about his family’s stake. Besides, he’s a cretin.”

“He’s the last person I want to tell.”

“Because it will make it real?”

_ So sweet. So beautiful _ . She whispered, “It  _ is _ real,” and lowered her mouth to his.

He reached his hands up to the back of her head and held her in place as he kissed her lips. When she pulled away and sat up, Draco followed. His hands threaded through her hair, drawing her back to him. “I wasn’t done yet.” 

Draco’s kisses were insistent, tender and sweet, and Hermione returned them in kind. At some point, though, her mouth opened just as they kissed, and there was an instant change in Draco. He made a low noise of pleasure, and pulled her against his chest, taking her bottom lip between his. There was a new hunger in the way his mouth moved with hers, and the tendril of desire, nurtured by Lucius at breakfast, unfurled yet more within Hermione. She  _ liked  _ this new way of kissing.

A loud call from nearby startled them, and they pulled apart, breathless. Draco scrubbed his hand over his face and then looked at her ruefully. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” She blushed yet again, but maintained his gaze, and leaned in to kiss him again.

They picked up where they’d left off, and when Luna and Harry finally interrupted them, Draco’s eyes were much darker than their usual pale shade of blue. He pulled his robes around himself, despite the warm temperature. Harry pulled Hermione to her feet and looked down at the blond wizard with what looked to be a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t I take ‘Mione to class? That way you and Luna can tidy up here?”

Hermione was surprised when Draco didn’t stand up to say goodbye. He did, however, reach out for her left hand and press a kiss to her dragon’s back. “I’ll see you later.”

She was still slightly breathless and dizzy from lack of air, and hoped her smile and nod were a sufficient answer. Harry began pulling her towards the castle. Draco looked smug as she glanced back at him one last time over her shoulder.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Harry began teasing her. “So, you and Draco looked like you both enjoyed the picnic.”

“ _ Yes, Harry _ .”

“And you seem to be getting along  _ very _ well.”

She growled at him as he continued, “In fact, I’ll bet you two would have gotten along even _ better _ if we hadn’t interrupted!”

Hermione felt guilty at once for her attitude. “Thank you for the picnic, Harry. I enjoyed it very much.”

“Mmmmhmmm, I noticed.”

She gave in to the teasing and laughed along with him, although she gave him a good punch to the shoulder. As they neared the castle entrance, Harry slowed down. “Oh, look who’s waiting for us. Brace yourself.”

Ron was waiting for them on the steps, and he had a sullen look on his face. “Where’ve you two been?”

Harry said, “Hi to you, too. We had a picnic lunch and study group.”

The redhead looked suspiciously at Hermione, and she suddenly wondered if it was obvious what she’d been doing.  _ For some reason I hope it is. _ “You two must be pretty cozy with whoever you were  _ studying _ .”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t question with whom you keep company, so don’t do it to me.”

Ron thought for a moment, and answered warily, “Fair enough. But it’s only right that you tell me when you’ll be gone at meals.”

A red wave of rage threatened to wash over Hermione, and she sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. Schooling her features into an innocently curious expression, she asked, “Why’s that?”

Obviously shocked speechless, he blinked stupidly (really, even if she hadn’t been so furious she would have been irritated by his idiocy). He stuttered, “Y-Y-You know what I mean.”

Harry butted in, “Come on, ‘Mione. We’re going to be late.”

“Sorry Harry!” Without another glance at the boy she had once liked so much, Hermione turned and walked quickly away _. _ She wanted to think of something – anything – besides Ron Weasley, and the first thing that came to mind was Draco’s mouth devouring hers. She felt better at once, remembering the sensuous rhythm their mouths had quickly learned.  _ I cannot believe I ever wanted to kiss Ron like that. _

_ * _ from the film _ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. _

  
  



	16. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and kisses for your patience, mes amis!

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday

Arithmancy was Hermione’s favorite subject, and Advanced Arithmancy Studies was, without doubt, her all-time favorite class. Today, however, Professor Vector’s lecture seemed to drone on and on. Eventually she couldn’t contain her mind within the classroom. Her thoughts went everywhere and nowhere at once. Images of Draco, the sensations of curling up in Lucius’ arms, the scent of them both, and wedding planning questions flowed together with the memories of being fed and kissed. Her body thrummed pleasantly and she felt slightly overheated. Her hand went to her pocket several times to touch the rose from Lucius.

Finally the students were dismissed, and Hermione was free to go back to her room and do nothing but daydream. First, though, she needed to find a chaperone. She waited patiently, using the time to begin a mental list of things to ask Minerva and Molly about pureblood weddings. Harry still hadn’t shown up when the last student left the classroom, and she turned to ask Professor Vector for help.

The professor was distracted as usual, and only slightly sympathetic when Hermione explained her plight. “I understand. However, there is a faculty meeting this afternoon, and I must be there early to set up for my presentation. We meet in the dungeons today. You may walk with me in that direction and hopefully Mr. Potter will find us along the way.”

Hermione decided to send Harry another Galleon message. It was a less than perfect way of communicating sometimes, given the limited number of characters that could be used at one time. Finally, she settled on _pls dungns now_.

Professor Vector was quite possibly the second fastest moving faculty member after Minerva McGonagall. In fact, it took an unbelievably short time for the two witches to cross the castle and descend to the dungeons, and there was no way Harry would have been able to meet her in time unless he was already nearby. The hallway outside of the Potions classroom was empty when they arrived. She’d worked up a light sweat along the way, and her heart was pounding when they finally stopped.

Professor Vector was one of Hermione’s favorite instructors, but this had nothing to do with her personality. At best, she was reserved and absent-minded, and at worst, cold and snappish. She was leaning toward her worst at the moment. “This is really quite inconvenient, Miss Granger. Surely you have a contingency plan for such situations?”

“Perhaps I could help you set up, and then when Professor McGonagall arrives, she can-”

Professor interrupted, “She and the Headmaster won’t be attending today, and I don’t need help. Let me think . . . Oh, I know!” She gestured to someone behind Hermione impatiently.

“Mr. Weasley, isn’t it? Come here at once.”

Hermione froze. _What could he possibly be doing down here? It’s not as if he’s taking Potions!_ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron shuffle her way. Her heart rate picked up to an even faster pace. She snapped to action and began hissing, “Professor, you don’t understand! I can’t go with him. Anyone but him!”

Ron was at her side now, looking curious. “Go where with who?”

To Hermione, Vector said simply, “Nonsense,” then turned to Ron and said, “Please escort Miss Granger to your dormitory. Thank you.” 

With that, Professor Vector entered the classroom and shut the door, leaving Hermione alone in the hall with Ron and her now galloping heart. She was in violation of her courtship rules, in the company of the most inappropriate person in the school, and for some reason her brain felt all pins-and-needles. 

Ron was speaking, and for some reason she found it difficult to decipher his words. They seemed to be echoing in her head. “What’s she on about, ‘Mione? Look, I’m right in the middle of something. Why d’you need someone to take you back to the tower?” As he spoke, he took a step toward her.

Hermione could feel herself begin to sway, and the hall took on a dreamlike quality. A split second thought raced through her head that she was fainting like some helpless fictional heroine. Just as quickly came the argument that she had just raced across the castle, increasing her heart rate, then stood very still, and then increased her heart rate yet again. It was all very logical. Still, she was fainting. Just as her knees buckled and the hall went sideways, she heard someone call out “Aresto Momentum!”

Her head landed on something soft. When the vertigo passed, she opened her eyes. Ron was still standing in the same spot, looking at her with the same vacuous look, and her head was resting in the hands of none other than Draco Malfoy.

“Are you all right?”

“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes again and lay quietly for a moment. “Head rush.”

“Good thing I forgot my notes in Potions.” He helped her to her feet and said darkly in her ear, “Where’s Harry, and what’s _he_ doing here?” 

She shivered at Draco’s tone, and whispered with her back to Ron, “Long story. Please, this isn’t the right time.”

Ron was clearly in a hurry to be someplace else. “Is that why the professor asked me to help you – you’re sick? You know I’d help you if it was important, ‘Mione, but you look better already. You good to go?” 

He seemed suddenly to realize that Draco was acting in a familiar way with her. “Hey, Malfoy - get your paws off her!”

_I can’t be alone with either of_ them. _I can’t be completely alone in the halls, either._ Hermione’s brain finally restarted, finding a solution to her quandary. “You’re not going anywhere! The three of us are going to walk —“ here she swayed on her feet and caught herself against the wall, “Sorry, still a bit woozy – we’re all going to walk to Gryffindor tower together. Or until we see Harry.” 

Ron looked irritated, and was clearly itching to get away. “I still don’t understand why you need two people to help you.” 

At that moment Draco planted himself in front of her, standing as a shield between her and Ron. She leaned far to her right to look around his torso and shot the redhead an annoyed look. Straightening, she looked up to see a stormy look on the blond wizard’s face. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed in resignation, and his expression became stoic.

She addressed Ron. “Obviously I’m not feeling well, you lump! Come on—no, you don’t both need to help me walk! I’m woozy, not incapacitated! Just, just stay near me _just in case_.” 

She brushed the redhead away when he tried to put his arm around her, and would have done the same to Draco, but he was having none of that. When she tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, he simply tightened his hold. _He’s not happy that Ron’s here, and that I haven’t told him about our binding._

Draco held her left forearm in his left hand and curved his right hand around her right shoulder as they walked. She felt the warmth and weight of his arm and struggled against the desire to tuck herself into his side. If he was willing to let go, she didn’t know because she didn’t try to pull away from him again.

As obvious as it was that Ron wanted to be somewhere else, he also obviously didn’t like Draco helping Hermione. “She’s not a china doll, Malfoy. ‘Mione’s tough – she doesn’t need coddling.”

Actually, Hermione liked the ‘coddling’, as Ron called it. She realized he had never once treated her like a girl; never touched her tenderly, never reverently as Draco did. Once again she fought against the urge to snuggle into her wizard.

They walked on in silence, until Ron tried again. “I’ll take her from here. C’mere, ‘Mione.”

Her old friend tried once again to put his arm around her. Hermione looked up to see him shoot a nasty look at Draco over her head just as Draco stopped short to keep the redhead from touching her. “Leave her alone, Weasley. She’s fine where she is.”

Ron had continued moving when Draco had stopped, so he was now ahead of them in the hall by a few steps. He turned to face them, and he suddenly wore a suspicious expression. “What’s it to you how ‘Mione is, anyway? You two suddenly friends?”

Hermione had had enough. She channeled Ginny and snapped, “Enough! I don’t want to hear one more word out of your mouth!”

He looked somewhat chastened, albeit sulky, and walked beside her in silence the rest of the way.

They arrived at the base of the stairs to Gryffindor tower in time to see Harry approaching from the opposite direction. He was carrying his broom and looked freshly showered.

_Of course – Quidditch practice. The Slytherins practiced this morning, so Gryffindor had the pitch this afternoon. That’s why he didn’t get my message._ She felt like an idiot for not asking about his afternoon schedule earlier. Harry looked between the faces of Ron, Hermione, and Draco, and sussed the situation immediately. His face twisted in penitence, and he started to say something but was cut off by Ron.

“Good. Great. Vector asked me to take ‘Mione back to the dorms, and Malfoy latched onto her like some parasite. She’s not feeling well, looks like. Thing is, I’m on my way to meet- Uh, someone. You can help her from here?”

The redhead finished speaking over his shoulder as he walked back in the direction they’d just come. _So much for his concern. He’s more worried about Draco getting too close to me than he is about actually helping me! And he obviously has a girl waiting for him near the dungeons._

“Hermione, I’m _so_ sorry. I thought you knew I had practice this afternoon. What happened?”

Draco spoke quietly from above her head. “Yes, do tell.” He hadn’t let go of her yet.

“Evidently Professor Vector doesn’t understand the ramifications of a pureblood courtship. She handed me off to the first person to show their face, who just happened to be Ron. _He_ was sneaking around in the dungeons, probably waiting for some girl.

“Ursula.”

She looked at Draco for clarification. “What?”

“Ursula Penkridge. I passed her in the hall. If the amount of perfume she was wearing was any indication, she was on her way to some assignation.”

Hermione snorted indelicately. “Sounds about right. Almost immediately after the professor slammed the door on me, I started feeling faint. I must have fallen right as Draco came round the corner, and,” here she looked up at him adoringly, “you caught me.”

She turned back to Harry. “Plainly, I couldn’t go alone with either one of them, so I insisted they both come along.”

“Potter, do you mind if I have a word with Hermione before you take her back to the dorms?” He was already steering her towards the corner at the back of the stairwell. Harry made a shooing gesture and sat down on the stone steps. 

Her wizard pushed her up against the back wall and kissed her almost roughly, leaning his hands against the wall to bracket her face. _He’s angry_. “Wait,” she cried between kisses, “please!”

He continued to kiss her, but his mouth gradually softened its assault. She moved her hands up to stroke his face soothingly. Finally, he broke away from her mouth to lean his forehead against hers. He drew a ragged breath. “Please tell him soon. I need him to know. Please.”

Hermione pulled him back down for a kiss, which led to a dozen more. Draco’s hands wrapped around her waist gently, and his lips were once again reverent as they moved against hers. She sighed against his mouth and wrapped her arms up around his neck, letting her fingers comb through his silky hair. He pulled back to look at her expectantly.

_I have all the power in this decision_. No matter what Draco wanted or felt, it was ultimately up to her. Her heart was filled with tenderness for him, and she said, “I promise you that I will tell him soon. Something keeps telling me to wait – that the right opportunity hasn’t presented itself yet. It’s such a strong feeling that I can’t help but trust it. Does that make sense?”

“In my head, yes. But my heart isn’t nearly as understanding. Actually,” he ducked to steal a kiss here, “maybe it’s the covenant.”

“How does that work? I’m not a Malfoy.”

Kiss. “You became one when you accepted the stake.” Kiss.

She was trying to fight the fog of pleasure that was creeping over her again. “How?”

“Didn’t you feel,” kiss, “the magic in the scroll?”

Draco’s lips were pushing and pulling at hers in the same undulant motion from earlier, and his hands were tighter now around her waist. 

“Mmmhmmmm,” she murmured against his mouth. Suddenly her curiosity overpowered her desire. She pushed firmly against his chest and he complied, standing to his full height with a glazed look in his eye. Hermione smiled and reached up to pat his cheeks lightly. “Focus! I want to know what you’re talking about. Here, sit with me and tell me about the magic in the scroll.”

Draco growled in mock frustration and obeyed, sliding down the wall to sit beside her on the cool stone floor. He explained more fully as he played with her left hand. “The stake was imbued with the magic of the covenant. When you accepted it, I’m sure it responded to you. Did you feel it?”

“Yes! It felt like the magic was purring, and then running into my hands and arms. Then, at the acceptance ceremony, I felt that same feeling throughout my whole body.”

“That was the covenant. It’s now part of you.”

“So you think that maybe it’s the covenant that’s giving me that feeling about waiting to tell about our binding?”

“That’s the most likely. However, that doesn’t mean that I’ll take your continued silence without protest.”

“I wouldn’t have expected that,” she laughed, “and I won’t make you wait much longer. I’m sorry I stopped . . . what we were doing . . . to ask you that, but there’s so much I don’t know. Do you . . . is that okay?”

His smirk told her it was. “We needed to stop at some point soon, in any case. Let’s get you to Harry.”

Draco helped her to her feet and led her back to the stairs with his hand on the small of her back. _He likes to touch me._ The thought made her give an involuntary shiver. Harry was waiting patiently in the same spot, and stood when they approached.

“Ready?”

“I guess.” She turned to her wizard and felt the room spin. “See you at dinner.”

She must have stumbled or looked unsteady, because suddenly both wizards were looking concerned and reaching for her. “Indeed you will. Perhaps you should lie down, though. You look flushed. Harry, will you . . .?” He gestured toward her.

Harry wrapped an arm around her and proceeded to drag her up the stairs.

_I feel quite funny. I think I will lie down for a bit._ She said accusingly, “He called you by your given name.”

“He does, sometimes. What about it?”

“I want him to call me by mine. Can we rest for a bit?”

He paused and looked at her oddly. “Right. As soon as I find Gin, you’re going to bed.” Hermione nodded compliantly and kept her eyes closed, fighting the swooping light-headedness that kept tipping the world at an angle.

  
  


“Incidentally,” he added when they had begun to climb the stairs again, “why don’t you think about using _his_ first name? Honestly, the two of you are ridiculously perfect for each other.”


	17. Wednesday cont'd

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Hermione napped until dinner, and woke with a foggy head.  _ At least it’s better than vertigo _ . She ate her meal with her head propped on Ginny’s shoulder and tried to pay attention to the conversation around her. Several times she caught Draco looking with concern at her from the Slytherin table, and each time she smiled reassuringly.  _ The shock has finally caught up with me, I think. _

Afterward he managed to walk alongside her, Harry and the girls through the entrance hall under the auspices of talking about the upcoming Quidditch match. 

She felt his fingers brush against hers briefly and smiled.

“That’s a very secret smile you have on your face, Miss Granger. Care to share what you’re thinking about?” He asked innocently.

She smirked and began to reply, but suddenly Ron was insinuating himself into the group. “Oi! How come no one ever waits for me anymore? What’re we talking about? Oh,  _ hello, _ Malfoy.”

Draco managed to reply in a civil tone, “Weasley. We were just talking about a post-game celebration in the village on Saturday.”

Ron’s tone was sneering. “And what exactly would  _ we  _ be celebrating? Gryffindor smearing the pitch with Slytherin one last time?”

Harry cut in, “Enough, Ron. It’s our last game at school, and I’d like to spend one last afternoon with all the people we’ve played with over the years. I think it’d be nice.”

Ron started to say something in a nasty tone, but Harry continued, “Speaking of Quidditch, why weren’t you at practice today? I would’ve asked you earlier, but you were in such a hurry.”

The redhead replied sullenly, “No point. It’s not like I’ll be playing on Saturday - I’ve been called home. My dad called one of his stupid family meetings.”

Harry sounded puzzled. “But Gin was at practice.” He directed his attention to his girlfriend. “Are you going home, too?”

Ginny flashed Hermione a warning look, but her answer to Harry sounded genuine enough. “And miss playing with the team one last time? Besides, I didn’t get that note. I’ll be here for sure.”

Draco had taken advantage of the talk around them to brush his hand against hers again, and her smile returned. It was almost enough to distract her thoughts, which were centered on something Ginny had said to her last night: ‘ _ I’ll bet things get ugly this weekend. He’s being called home.’ _ What would happen to Ron?

They’d reached the base of Gryffindor tower, and Draco had no excuse to linger. As he passed her to continue on, he murmured, “You look peaked. I want you in bed.”

She flushed vermillion.  _ Did he mean that as a double entendre? Mother of all magic, I think I hope he did . . . _ Draco didn’t slow down or look back, but Hermione watched as a deep red shade suffused his retreating neck.

She followed her friends to the fireside couches in the commons, relieved when Ron slipped away with a flimsy excuse. For the rest of the evening, her mind was everywhere and nowhere, and Hermione was insensate to the sights and sounds around her.

The mental haze persisted until a series of odd sounds returned her to her surroundings. Harry and Luna were in the middle of . . . something . . . although Luna was the one who first noticed Hermione’s return to awareness. The witch incorporated Hermione into her quiet conversation with Harry.

“Aah! Oh! please don’t tease, Harry! There you are, ‘Mione! Yeeessss! I wondered where you’d - mmmmmm - gone. Ooh, yes, like that! So clooooose!

“I have a lot to think about, Lu.” 

“Yes! Ooh! I suppose you - aah! - do. Unnngh, faster, Harry! You must be overwhelmed at - mmmmmm, so close! - times! Ooooh, pleasepleaseplease! Oh! Harry! Harry! Harry!” Here, Luna’s breathy voice trailed off.

Harry was now inserting his glistening fingers into Ginny’s mouth, watching as she sucked them clean.  _ This is how much I’ve changed in the past year. I’m having a conversation with one of my best friends while the boy who’s like a brother to me fingers her to orgasm in a public place. And my most significant thought is how impressed I am that she remained coherent. Also that Lucius wants to do that to me. I think. _

Harry entered the conversation at this point. “Anything in particular you’re thinking about right now?” 

He was lying back against the couch with his girls on either side of him. Luna’s eyes were half-closed as she reached out to hold Hermione’s hand. Ginny looked restless and Hermione realized that the show was only half over.

“I need to tell Ron, but I know it isn’t the right time, and . . .”

“And Draco wants you to tell him immediately?’ Luna supplied.

“Yes. And I want to do that for him, but I can’t ignore this feeling that I should wait a bit longer."

“Draco will wait, but he might not be patient,” chuckled Harry, “I’m sure he wants everyone, especially Ron, to know that you’re off the market - that you’re his.”

“About that - I’ve had some conversations with Astoria Greengrass, because of-”

Ginny interrupted, “Her binding to the House of Nott?”

“Yes. She’s been explaining all sorts of things to me. She says it’s natural that I respond to Draco the way I do, because I belong to him, and that I’ll respond to Lucius the same way soon. I’m still trying to work through that  _ belonging to someone _ part.”

Luna looked at Hermione sleepily. “From what my father’s told me of the Malfoys, they’re possessive of what they consider to be theirs. Perhaps you’d better resign yourself to belonging to someone sooner rather than later.”

“I just really don’t want either of them to go all prehistoric. Draco won’t do that, will he?”

“He might, eventually, if you don’t tell Ron,” Ginny argued. “Still, would you rather have him take you for granted and ignore you like my idiot brother?”

Harry had begun tracing Ginny’s nipple through her shirt. He was speaking to her, but loud enough for Hermione to hear. “I know how to get  _ you _ to respond naturally, witch. Shall I tease you? Make you beg for more?”

When Ginny began to moan, Hermione had had enough. “Right! Off to bed for me, then. Thanks for the company.”

In the privacy of her room, Hermione let her thoughts run free. In them, Lucius was teasing her again, voice laced with innuendo, as they talked about his hands. Draco was kissing her hungrily on the picnic blanket, only this time their bodies were lying side by side. She walked to her mirror and looked at herself with scrutiny.  _ What do they see in me? _

The young witch removed her robes, remembering as she hung them up the flower from Lucius. Carefully she took it out of the pocket and set it in a glass of water by her bed. She stroked its petals gently.  _ Such an unusual color. _

Hermione walked to her mirror and began slowly removing the rest of her clothing, never taking her eyes from her reflection.  _ Do they think my face is pretty? They both want to kiss me . . . _ here she brushed her fingertips across her lips, imagining being kissed by each of them. Her hand traveled to her cheek, remembering how Lucius had held it tenderly just this afternoon.  _ Does he think my skin is soft? _ The hand traveled down to her shoulders, feeling the delicate bones under her skin.  _ When Draco wrapped his hand here after I fainted, did he like the way it felt? _

She held her hands up before her, looking intently at the handmark on her left one.  _ What do they think when they see their mark on me? _ She clasped her hands, remembering the feeling of Lucius’ large hand holding both of hers together.  _ Does he like being so much bigger and stronger than me? _ Her thoughts turned to Draco, and when they held hands. His hand dwarfed hers, too.  _ Is that attractive - to be little? _

Hermione lifted her other hand and brought them to her breasts. They were small and round.  _ Do they like my breasts? Draco likes it when my dragon pendant sits right here. I see him looking at it _ . She traced that spot with a finger, then let her fingers trail down the shallow valley below it. She cupped her breasts with both hands, bringing her thumbs to stroke back and forth across her rose-colored nipples until they tightened into peaks.  _ My wizards will touch me just like this soon, teasing my flesh until it responds to their fingers.  _

Her eyes were closed now as she felt a pleasant thrum of arousal pulse through her. She let one hand drift down her abdomen and ran her fingers softly over the trimmed hair of her mound before gently pressing into her seam.  _ What will it be like to be touched like this? What will it be like to touch them this way? _ Her body responded with a jolt as her fingers stroked back and forth, and she spread the sudden heavy wetness to her clit. Hermione’s head fell back as she enjoyed the sensations and the images her mind was creating. She sank to the floor on her knees.  _ My pleasure will be theirs _ . The hand still at her breasts plucked at her nipples as the fingers of her other hand rubbed more insistently. 

She had touched herself experimentally before, to thoroughly catalogue her parts, but never felt a desire to go further. Now Hermione found herself pleading to some unknown entity for more . . . something, anything. She worked to learn her body’s appetite as quickly as she could, but it took time to find the something more she wanted.

In her mind’s eye she saw Draco sliding a dress from her shoulders and pulling her under the hot spray of a shower. He leaned down to lick the water droplets from her collarbones as she did the same to his chest. The idea morphed into that of Lucius in the water with her, pulling her back against his broad chest, and Hermione could almost feel the shape of his hands around her waist as he ran his mouth along the side of her neck.  _ He’d be aroused, and I’d feel his . . . I’d feel him pressing against me. _

She envisioned herself stripped bare and laid back on a couch, and held from behind in Lucius’ arms, his hand moving between her legs. She summoned the image of Draco now, mouth latched to one of her breasts as he tugged at the other with his hand.  _ I won’t be able to be quiet - I’ll beg and plead and moan and cry out, just like Luna. Only I’ll be crying out MY wizards’ names.  _ Her body broke out in to a light sweat as she imagined her wizards’ hands in place of her own. Her imagination moved Lucius’ mouth to her shoulder, nipping the skin, murmuring titillating promises; Draco’s mouth came to hers, pushing his tongue past her lips in a way they hadn’t yet done in reality. Hermione felt the beginning of a curling sensation deep inside of her, and she fought her way toward it, until it was replaced by a sharp electrical shock.

“No! No, no, nonononoonooooooooo!” She cried, realizing immediately what had happened.  _ It’s that damn oath I took! _ Her body screamed for relief, and she could do nothing but cry in frustration. The words of Molly came back to her:  _ by the time of the ceremony you will be a needful, writhing mess.  _ She collapsed in defeat and stayed there until the chill of the castle floor drove her to pull on her pyjamas and climb into bed.

Mercifully, sleep came quickly. Her last coherent thought was  _ I imagined the three of us together. Merlin and Circe, I liked it. I want to do it on a couch . . . _

Her dreams that night were vivid. In them, Draco’s beautiful mouth covered her entire body with kisses while Lucius watched from the wingback chair. She awoke almost painfully aroused and without the ability to bring herself relief, which led her to being in a foul mood for most of the morning. One thought ran through her head constantly:  _ I wonder if my wizards are under these same restrictions. _


	18. More of Wednesday

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Hermione napped until dinner, and woke with a foggy head. _At least it’s better than vertigo_ . She ate her meal with her head propped on Ginny’s shoulder and tried to pay attention to the conversation around her. Several times she caught Draco looking with concern at her from the Slytherin table, and each time she smiled reassuringly. _The shock has finally caught up with me, I think._

Afterward he managed to walk alongside her, Harry and the girls through the entrance hall under the auspices of talking about the upcoming Quidditch match. 

She felt his fingers brush against hers briefly and smiled.

“That’s a very secret smile you have on your face, Miss Granger. Care to share what you’re thinking about?” He asked innocently.

She smirked and began to reply, but suddenly Ron was insinuating himself into the group. “Oi! How come no one ever waits for me anymore? What’re we talking about? Oh, _hello,_ Malfoy.”

Draco managed to reply in a civil tone, “Weasley. We were just talking about a post-game celebration in the village on Saturday.”

Ron’s tone was sneering. “And what exactly would _we_ be celebrating? Gryffindor smearing the pitch with Slytherin one last time?”

Harry cut in, “Enough, Ron. It’s our last game at school, and I’d like to spend one last afternoon with all the people we’ve played with over the years. I think it’d be nice.”

Ron started to say something in a nasty tone, but Harry continued, “Speaking of Quidditch, why weren’t you at practice today? I would’ve asked you earlier, but you were in such a hurry.”

The redhead replied sullenly, “No point. It’s not like I’ll be playing on Saturday - I’ve been called home. My dad called one of his stupid family meetings.”

Harry sounded puzzled. “But Gin was at practice.” He directed his attention to his girlfriend. “Are you going home, too?”

Ginny flashed Hermione a warning look, but her answer to Harry sounded genuine enough. “And miss playing with the team one last time? Besides, I didn’t get that note. I’ll be here for sure.”

Draco had taken advantage of the talk around them to brush his hand against hers again, and her smile returned. It was almost enough to distract her thoughts, which were centered on something Ginny had said to her last night: ‘ _I’ll bet things get ugly this weekend. He’s being called home.’_ What would happen to Ron?

They’d reached the base of Gryffindor tower, and Draco had no excuse to linger. As he passed her to continue on, he murmured, “You look peaked. I want you in bed.”

She flushed vermillion. _Did he mean that as a double entendre? Mother of all magic, I think I hope he did . . ._ Draco didn’t slow down or look back, but Hermione watched as a deep red shade suffused his retreating neck.

She followed her friends to the fireside couches in the commons, relieved when Ron slipped away with a flimsy excuse. For the rest of the evening, her mind was everywhere and nowhere, and Hermione was insensate to the sights and sounds around her.

The mental haze persisted until a series of odd sounds returned her to her surroundings. Harry and Luna were in the middle of . . . something . . . although Luna was the one who first noticed Hermione’s return to awareness. The witch incorporated Hermione into her quiet conversation with Harry.

“Aah! Oh! please don’t tease, Harry! There you are, ‘Mione! Yeeessss! I wondered where you’d - mmmmmm - gone. Ooh, yes, like that! So clooooose!

“I have a lot to think about, Lu.” 

“Yes! Ooh! I suppose you - aah! - do. Unnngh, faster, Harry! You must be overwhelmed at - mmmmmm, so close! - times! Ooooh, pleasepleaseplease! Oh! Harry! Harry! Harry!” Here, Luna’s breathy voice trailed off.

Harry was now inserting his glistening fingers into Ginny’s mouth, watching as she sucked them clean. _This is how much I’ve changed in the past year. I’m having a conversation with one of my best friends while the boy who’s like a brother to me fingers her to orgasm in a public place. And my most significant thought is how impressed I am that she remained coherent. Also that Lucius wants to do that to me. I think._

Harry entered the conversation at this point. “Anything in particular you’re thinking about right now?” 

He was lying back against the couch with his girls on either side of him. Luna’s eyes were half-closed as she reached out to hold Hermione’s hand. Ginny looked restless and Hermione realized that the show was only half over.

“I need to tell Ron, but I know it isn’t the right time, and . . .”

“And Draco wants you to tell him immediately?’ Luna supplied.

“Yes. And I want to do that for him, but I can’t ignore this feeling that I should wait a bit longer."

“Draco will wait, but he might not be patient,” chuckled Harry, “I’m sure he wants everyone, especially Ron, to know that you’re off the market - that you’re his.”

“About that - I’ve had some conversations with Astoria Greengrass, because of-”

Ginny interrupted, “Her binding to the House of Nott?”

“Yes. She’s been explaining all sorts of things to me. She says it’s natural that I respond to Draco the way I do, because I belong to him, and that I’ll respond to Lucius the same way soon. I’m still trying to work through that _belonging to someone_ part.”

Luna looked at Hermione sleepily. “From what my father’s told me of the Malfoys, they’re possessive of what they consider to be theirs. Perhaps you’d better resign yourself to belonging to someone sooner rather than later.”

“I just really don’t want either of them to go all prehistoric. Draco won’t do that, will he?”

“He might, eventually, if you don’t tell Ron,” Ginny argued. “Still, would you rather have him take you for granted and ignore you like my idiot brother?”

Harry had begun tracing Ginny’s nipple through her shirt. He was speaking to her, but loud enough for Hermione to hear. “I know how to get _you_ to respond naturally, witch. Shall I tease you? Make you beg for more?”

When Ginny began to moan, Hermione had had enough. “Right! Off to bed for me, then. Thanks for the company.”

In the privacy of her room, Hermione let her thoughts run free. In them, Lucius was teasing her again, voice laced with innuendo, as they talked about his hands. Draco was kissing her hungrily on the picnic blanket, only this time their bodies were lying side by side. She walked to her mirror and looked at herself with scrutiny. _What do they see in me?_

The young witch removed her robes, remembering as she hung them up the flower from Lucius. Carefully she took it out of the pocket and set it in a glass of water by her bed. She stroked its petals gently. _Such an unusual color._

Hermione walked to her mirror and began slowly removing the rest of her clothing, never taking her eyes from her reflection. _Do they think my face is pretty? They both want to kiss me . . ._ here she brushed her fingertips across her lips, imagining being kissed by each of them. Her hand traveled to her cheek, remembering how Lucius had held it tenderly just this afternoon. _Does he think my skin is soft?_ The hand traveled down to her shoulders, feeling the delicate bones under her skin. _When Draco wrapped his hand here after I fainted, did he like the way it felt?_

She held her hands up before her, looking intently at the handmark on her left one. _What do they think when they see their mark on me?_ She clasped her hands, remembering the feeling of Lucius’ large hand holding both of hers together. _Does he like being so much bigger and stronger than me?_ Her thoughts turned to Draco, and when they held hands. His hand dwarfed hers, too. _Is that attractive - to be little?_

Hermione lifted her other hand and brought them to her breasts. They were small and round. _Do they like my breasts? Draco likes it when my dragon pendant sits right here. I see him looking at it_ . She traced that spot with a finger, then let her fingers trail down the shallow valley below it. She cupped her breasts with both hands, bringing her thumbs to stroke back and forth across her rose-colored nipples until they tightened into peaks. _My wizards will touch me just like this soon, teasing my flesh until it responds to their fingers._

Her eyes were closed now as she felt a pleasant thrum of arousal pulse through her. She let one hand drift down her abdomen and ran her fingers softly over the trimmed hair of her mound before gently pressing into her seam. _What will it be like to be touched like this? What will it be like to touch them this way?_ Her body responded with a jolt as her fingers stroked back and forth, and she spread the sudden heavy wetness to her clit. Hermione’s head fell back as she enjoyed the sensations and the images her mind was creating. She sank to the floor on her knees. _My pleasure will be theirs_. The hand still at her breasts plucked at her nipples as the fingers of her other hand rubbed more insistently. 

She had touched herself experimentally before, to thoroughly catalogue her parts, but never felt a desire to go further. Now Hermione found herself pleading to some unknown entity for more . . . something, anything. She worked to learn her body’s appetite as quickly as she could, but it took time to find the something more she wanted.

In her mind’s eye she saw Draco sliding a dress from her shoulders and pulling her under the hot spray of a shower. He leaned down to lick the water droplets from her collarbones as she did the same to his chest. The idea morphed into that of Lucius in the water with her, pulling her back against his broad chest, and Hermione could almost feel the shape of his hands around her waist as he ran his mouth along the side of her neck. _He’d be aroused, and I’d feel his . . . I’d feel him pressing against me._

She envisioned herself stripped bare and laid back on a couch, and held from behind in Lucius’ arms, his hand moving between her legs. She summoned the image of Draco now, mouth latched to one of her breasts as he tugged at the other with his hand. _I won’t be able to be quiet - I’ll beg and plead and moan and cry out, just like Luna. Only I’ll be crying out MY wizards’ names._ Her body broke out in to a light sweat as she imagined her wizards’ hands in place of her own. Her imagination moved Lucius’ mouth to her shoulder, nipping the skin, murmuring titillating promises; Draco’s mouth came to hers, pushing his tongue past her lips in a way they hadn’t yet done in reality. Hermione felt the beginning of a curling sensation deep inside of her, and she fought her way toward it, until it was replaced by a sharp electrical shock.

“No! No, no, nonononoonooooooooo!” She cried, realizing immediately what had happened. _It’s that damn oath I took!_ Her body screamed for relief, and she could do nothing but cry in frustration. The words of Molly came back to her: _by the time of the ceremony you will be a needful, writhing mess._ She collapsed in defeat and stayed there until the chill of the castle floor drove her to pull on her pyjamas and climb into bed.

Mercifully, sleep came quickly. Her last coherent thought was _I imagined the three of us together. Merlin and Circe, I liked it. I want to do it on a couch . . ._

Her dreams that night were vivid. In them, Draco’s beautiful mouth covered her entire body with kisses while Lucius watched from the wingback chair. She awoke almost painfully aroused and without the ability to bring herself relief, which led her to being in a foul mood for most of the morning. One thought ran through her head constantly: _I wonder if my wizards are under these same restrictions._

  
  
  


Chapter 18 - Thursday

Early morning brought a note from Minerva, inviting her to another breakfast with Molly. _I wonder if Lucius talked to either of them about wedding plans._ She looked at her bedside clock and went to wake her redheaded friend. This time when Ginny went to find Harry, she didn’t return. Instead, Hermione received a Galleon message: vry _bsy. 1 hr._ It seemed that Harry would be indisposed for some time, and so she fussed with her curls and face for a bit longer than usual. Ginny’s recent loan of a book of beauty charms was coming in quite handy.

The end result wasn’t dramatically different, but enough so to put an extra sway in her hips. When Harry finally stumbled down the stairs to the commons, robes in hand, he remarked on the sparkle in her eye. “Good dreams last night, ’Mione?”

Hermione smirked self-consciously and nodded. Then she took in her ‘brother’s’ appearance and gave an exasperated noise. “Harry, I know you’ve had a busy morning, but for Merlin’s sake please button and zip your trousers. And . . . turn your shirt the right way ‘round.” 

“Will do.” Harry grinned good-naturedly, and he complied as they left through the portrait hole entrance. Their trek took place in companionable silence today, and eventually she found herself being dropped off at the top of the steps to the Headmaster’s office.

Molly and Minerva were already carrying on a lively conversation by the time she joined them. She quietly filled her plate, listening to the two witches gossip about the latest _Witch Weekly_ articles. Minerva had a penchant for a section called _Wizard Watch,_ which highlighted the comings and goings of the wizarding world’s favorite bachelors. Molly apparently favored _Which Witch_ , a segment following the lives of wealthy celebrity witches. Hermione’s thoughts began drifting elsewhere, but she was called to attention when Molly mentioned Lucius’ name. 

“What’s that?” She asked.

“Hmmm? Oh, Lucius has just announced the development of a new species of rose from Malfoy Seed, to be marketed shortly. He hasn’t published its name yet.”

“What’s Malfoy seed?”

Minerva spluttered into her tea. “It’s what’s going to fill you quite soon--“ 

“My dear!” interrupted Molly. “Have you never seen the breathtaking roses sold in Diagon Alley?”

Hermione was grateful for the reprieve. She didn’t have to think hard to recall the vendor’s cart in question. “Why, yes! I stop and drool over them each time I’m there. I’ve always wanted to buy one, but they’re so . . . extravagant.” _And the kind of gift better received from someone other than oneself._ She’d always dreamed of getting one from Ron.

“Those are Malfoy roses, from the Malfoy Seed Establishment. It’s been around for almost a thousand years! Lucius continues his family’s talent for Herbology – he’s quite the hobbyist. His flowers are known all over the wizarding world, and there are some that have only ever been grown at the Manor.”

The curly-headed witch offered, “Lucius gave me a rose yesterday.”

“Very romantic,” said Minerva in an approving voice. “What color is it?”

“Blue,” Hermione blushed and added, “The same shade as his eyes.”

Minerva seemed disappointed. “I would have put money on them being deep orange!”

Molly tactfully ignored that and clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, how lovely! How lovely, sweetheart!”

“Yes, it is, “ she agreed dreamily. “Errrr, _what’s_ lovely?”

“If I know Lucius, and I certainly do, he’s spent these last few years developing a new rose in your honor! Such a perfect gesture to make to his Bespoke Witch!”

Hermione found Molly’s syrupy interpretation to be slightly embarrassing. _Or, he could have stepped out to the garden and clipped the first flower he came across this morning._ She tried to direct the conversation in a different direction. “He and I talked about the wedding ceremony yesterday. He suggested I ask you two for help deciding details. I need to give him a list on Sunday.”

The two older witches weren’t surprised, and Hermione was led to believe that Lucius had indeed talked with at least one of them. In fact, Minerva summoned a conveniently located parchment and quill from a nearby table. Unsurprisingly, Molly took control at once. “All right! I’m sure the Malfoys have already discreetly invited a numerous amount of people, but you’ll want to add to that list. Apart from that you’ll need to decide how you’d like the tents decorated, and what food will be served to the guests. Now, as far as . . .”

Molly was the obvious choice for food planning. Not only was she an excellent cook herself, she had first-hand experience feeding a crowd. Hermione suggested Molly talk with Lucius about heading up that part.

“Have you thought about entertainment, dear?” Asked Minerva at some point. No, she hadn’t.

“Because there’s a very circumspect, very reputable company that hires out male—“

“How about a string quartet?” countered Hermione, hastily cutting Minerva off at the pass.

Hermione learned that an outdoor afternoon reception would come first, and it would undoubtedly involve a large guest list. It would last until the sun set completely, at which point guests would leave. The actual ceremony would only include Hermione, Lucius, and Draco, a Ministry official, and perhaps some select relatives.

“You’ll want a good cocktail bar, with beer for the younger wizards and kiddie drinks for the children,” advised her favorite professor. Hermione nodded politely. _My main priority is going to be keeping you sober and in possession of your dignity._

Molly and Minerva argued amongst themselves about tent choices and decorations, and completely forgot the bride-to-be in their excitement. She could have been offended, but the truth was Hermione realized she had very little interest in the planning after all. The long and the short of it was that Hermione decided to hand off the whole thing to the two older witches – actually, just to Molly. Her only stipulation was that, if possible, she wanted lots and lots of Lucius’ beautiful blue roses. Molly agreed to send the completed list to Lucius herself.

Having delegated that concern, Hermione’s curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “Molly, what will happen to Ron this weekend?”

Molly looked startled. “How on earth do you- _Ginny_ told you, didn’t she! I specifically asked her not to!” 

“I just wondered . . .”

The motherly witch shook her head firmly. “Never you mind, dear.”

The topic was obviously closed. Hermione struck out in a different direction entirely. “How do you know Lucius so well?”

That seemed a perfectly acceptable question, if she interpreted Molly’s pleased smile correctly. “The Black family, dear.”

“The only Blacks I know of are Sirius and Bellatrix. Where do they fit?”

“Bellatrix’s sister was Narcissa Malfoy!”

“ _You’re joking!_ Even if that’s true, I don’t see how it explains my question.”

“No, no, sweetheart – the Weasleys and the Blacks are related. Arthur and Narcissa were cousins, which makes Draco—“

Hermione made the connection and interrupted triumphantly, “Family! You’re part of his extended family!”

“We certainly don’t run in the same social circles, but we’re related. Narcissa became the Malfoy house wife the year Bill turned seven. He was part of their ceremony.” Molly had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke. “Of course, Lucius and Cissy were never at school with us – they were that much younger – but Arthur was always her favorite cousin. When she passed, we tried to look after Lucius and Draco as best we could. Yes, we’re family.”

This was all the validation Hermione needed to act on her intuition. Ignoring what could potentially be an awkward situation with Molly, she begged the two older witches, “Please, will you be my relatives at the wedding ceremony?”

Yes, they would, if their shocked and happy faces, Molly’s streaked with some tears, meant anything. Molly gathered Hermione into her arms for a warm, motherly hug. Minerva patted her arm and nodded approvingly as she rapidly blinked her own watery eyes.

At the end of breakfast, Minerva gave her a note, and she recognized the expensive vellum at once. It simply read,

_My Lovely, I have been called to the States last minute. Regretfully, I must postpone our next visit until tomorrow night. Until then I remain yours, L._

_Mine_ . _Why do I like that word so much_? She mentally calculated the hours until she saw him again. She pursued a daydream until Minerva cleared her throat meaningfully.

“Sorry, Minerva.”

“I understand, dear girl. It’s a note worth pondering. Now let’s get you to class.”

_She read my mail_ . _Why am I not more upset that she read my mail?_ The rest of the day passed in a blur. 

Dinner was another awkward dance of flirting with Draco and avoiding Ron while chattering away with Harry and his girls. Her wizard’s eyes rarely left her during the meal; her skin felt hot under his stare. The fingers of her right hand toyed with her dragon charm between taking bites of her meal, and Draco watched with a smile on his beautiful lips. Hermione was perfecting the art of holding her fork with her robe-wrapped left hand, and fortunately no one seemed to think anything of her sloppy sleeves.

When dessert was served, he used the distraction to mouth the word _library_ as he shaped his hands like an opened book. Then he nodded in Harry’s direction. Hermione needed no further encouragement. She turned to her brotherly friend immediately. “Harry, come to the library with me after dinner? I have an essay to write.”

Ron butted in loudly, spewing chocolate cake crumbs from his mouth. “Oh, _come on_ ! How could you possibly have any homework? We’re done – _free_ – and no one expects a thing from us. Besides, Harry owes me a game of chess.”

Behind Ron, Draco looked up at the redheaded wizard with a dark look on his face. Hermione answered as politely as she could in the moment, “I think the choice is up to him.” 

Ron turned to Lavender Brown, who was draped over his shoulder. “I’ll bet she can’t find a boy other than Harry who’d want to meet her in the library! Go figure!”

Hermione felt a flare of irritation within. She quelled it with difficulty and turned back to Harry. She said playfully, “Pretty, pretty please come with me?”

Ron added loudly enough for everyone around to hear, “Yeah, that’s what you should be doing, ‘Mione. _Begging_. Don’t hear that enough from you.”

Harry seemed equally irritated with Ron. “Don’t listen to him. Sure, I’ll go to the library. The girls are off doing something anyway. Let’s go.”

Ron stood up from the table just in time to be jostled almost violently by a passing shoulder and was pushed forward into the remains of his dessert. Looking up to see who had accidentally pushed the redhead, Hermione saw Draco glance back over his shoulder and wink at her.

“Come on, ‘Mione. I think we’re done here,” urged Harry. He threw a disgusted look in Ron’s direction. As they were leaving the table, he added innocently, “I assume you’ll want the arithmancy section?”

“ _Yes_ , Harry.”

The Headmaster intercepted them as they were heading out the doors. “Miss Granger! A word, please?”

She followed him back to his office. On his desk there was another gift. This one was an armful-sized box wrapped in ornate green wrapping paper and tied with a silver bow. Hermione glanced from the box to Professor Dumbledore. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, my dear. Only, I promised Draco you wouldn’t open it without him. You’ll have to bring it to him for opening.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see him later tonight, actually.”

“Such a gift might raise more questions than you’re ready to answer as of yet. Perhaps we should give it a disguise?” As he suggested it, he transfigured the box into a copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ . _How does he know I’m not ready to announce the binding?_

They walked to the door. “I took the liberty of summoning Mr. Potter. He should be here any time, now.”

“Good night, professor, and thank you for . . .” _For what, exactly? Offering me as a prize? Offering the stake to me without making sure I understood its significance_? She finished in a much different tone of voice, “Errrr, thank you.”

He paused, giving her a look that was full of understanding and completely devoid of apology. “You’re most welcome, Miss Granger. And I do think, eventually, you will have reason to be truly thankful.”

  
  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Chapter 19 - Thursday Evening

Harry and Hermione walked back to Gryffindor tower in silence, only talking when they reached the commons. He told her to send a Galleon message when she was ready, and headed toward the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

Back in her room, Hermione only stopped to brush her teeth, touch up what little makeup she wore, and smooth her curls. Sending Harry a ‘ready’ message, she grabbed the transfigured box and raced to the common room. Less than forty-five minutes later, she was dragging her friend through the library to their favorite seats. Once again, they had arrived before Draco. Hermione wandered off to find her favorite transfiguration reference work.

The book she was reading was ridiculously huge and heavy, and she opted to sit on the floor right by its shelf rather than drag it anywhere. _I’ll only be a few minutes_. Soon she was lying flat on her stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed in the air. She was so involved in her notes that she didn’t even notice Draco when he sat down beside her. She jumped visibly when he finally said, “What on earth are you doing, Miss Granger?”

“Oh! Just one more minute. Almost done.”

The only sound was the scratching of her quill against parchment for a bit, and then she looked up. Draco was sitting beside her, his back to the bookshelf. He had one long leg stretched out beside her, and the other was bent at the knee. His elbows were perched on a lower shelf. _He’s beautiful_. 

“What are you working on?”

“Nothing, actually. I love this book, and it just occurred to me that I won’t be able to enjoy it for much longer. I wanted to write down a few favorite parts.”

Draco glanced at the cover of the tome as Hermione closed it. “Light reading?”

She laughed and sat up on her knees, putting them almost at the same level. The young wizard must have been waiting for that, because he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Hermione went to him gladly. “By the way, Professor Dumbledore gave me your present but said I was to wait to open it.”

Draco lifted one eyebrow in a manner eerily similar to Lucius. “You don’t happen to have it with you, I suppose?”

“Yes. When I told him we were meeting here, he transfigured it into a book for me. It’s over there by my schoolbag.” She started to get up.

“Stay here, and I’ll get it.” He tapped her on the head in emphasis, leaned forward at the waist and reached a long arm for it.

_He’s so graceful._ Her eyes followed his every movement. Draco quickly reverted the gift back to its original form. As he performed _Finite_ , Hermione’s mind went elsewhere and she giggled. He looked at her questioningly.

“Oh, it’s just that the, um, dress I wore to the stake acceptance was a transfigured silk scarf. Ginny warned me I’d end up looking like a house-elf in a hanky if anyone used that counter-spell. Good thing it wasn’t part of the ceremony.”

Draco eyes glazed for more than a few seconds, and she anxiously asked, “What’s wrong?”

The young wizard blinked and processed her question. A slight flush rose in his cheeks, and he dropped his eyes as he said, “I was imagining you in a green silk scarf. You didn’t look at all like a house elf.”

Hermione was blushing, too. “Thank you, I think.”

He held the package out in front of her at face level. “Would you like your present now?”

She was momentarily distracted by the way his long hands wrapped around the box’s angles. “Oh – yes, please.”

Draco maneuvered his long body beside hers, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders so that he could help hold the box in her lap. Together they untied the bow and pulled off the paper. Hermione was having a hard time focusing on anything other than Draco at the moment, but she managed to remove the lid. There, under several layers of tissue, was a dark grey dress of heavy silk. The young witch touched the fabric reverently and then raised it up a few inches by the delicate shoulder straps.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

His breath tickled her ear. “The color will look lovely against your skin.”

She turned her face to his, “I love it.”

Hermione rose to stand, shaking out the folds in the storm-colored gown. She held it up against her torso and watched the way the light played against it, adding blue and deep purple flashes. The curly-headed witch looked down at her wizard with an awed expression.

“I’ve never owned anything so . . . “

Draco was reaching out to her, beckoning her back down to his side. She complied, and the two of them tucked the garment back into the box. He wrapped his arm around her again, reaching to hold her hand in his own. He murmured in her ear. “Wear it for our next visit. Please?”

_Even if I weren’t overdosing on his scent right now, I don’t think I could say no to him._ “Of course. Only, isn’t it a bit fancy to wear during the day?”

“Perhaps here at school. If you don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself, you could Glamour it. Say you’ll wear it for me.”

He had been watching her lips as she talked, and Hermione knew he was thinking of kissing her. The thought made her almost giddy. “I’ll wear it tomorrow. We _will_ have a visit then, won’t we?”

He was leaning toward her, his gaze still on her mouth. “Undoubtedly.”

He spoke the word against her lips and then pressed his mouth to hers. Hermione reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, and he gave a small, pleasurable moan. He was falling forward gently, pressing her to lean back toward the bookshelf behind her. Draco’s left arm was still wrapped around her, holding her against his chest, and now his right arm braced against the floor at her far side. Hermione was having difficulty remembering to breathe, and she wrapped her arms around him and held on as if for dear life. When their lips finally met, they moved together in a succession of heated kisses.

Suddenly he broke from the kiss with a flinch and jumped away from her as though he’d received an electric shock. Hermione reached out a trembling hand toward him. “Are you all right? What was that?”

Draco was obviously trying to regain his composure, and remained silent with his head down. Finally he took an audible breath, and said shakily, “Rule number one.”

“Rule number-- OH. What . . . do you want to talk about it?” She stroked his head in a soothing manner.

“No. Yes.” He paused again for a long time. “Rule number one might end up being the death of me. It states that I must never think of you disrespectfully when I’m with you.”

“I can’t imagine you being disrespectful to me, so I don’t understand why you were pun—“

Draco silenced her with a shake of his head. He was blushing, but forced himself to explain, “I could never _act_ disrespectfully toward you. However, my mind has a way of straying from appropriate thoughts.”

“How is that disrespectful?”

“Lucius explained that rule to me by saying that if I couldn’t bring myself to say what I was thinking out loud in front of you, the thought was inappropriate and therefore disrespectful. He did _not_ warn me that it would be all but impossible to abide by it.”

Her voice betrayed her confusion as she said, “I really don’t see how that applies to--“

“Hermione.” Draco dragged his hands through his hair, tugging at it, and it sounded as though he was driving himself to continue. “Before . . . I was thinking of what I wanted to do . . . _with_ you. _To_ you.”

_He said my name. He said my name but I’m not ready to say his, yet. Not yet._ _And Sweet Circe, did he just say what I thought he . . ._ “Oh,” she whispered softly. She felt a burning blush spread over her face.

“But I can’t bring myself to say it aloud, and so it’s inappropriate,” He said despondently. Draco briefly raised his eyes to hers before scrubbing a hand across his face.

“I know that I’m terribly naïve, but surely it can’t be that bad.” She couldn’t seem to talk above a whisper. Draco might be experiencing a momentary lack of composure, but she was a terrifying mix of confusion and mortification. _What does he want to do to me that he can’t say out loud?_

“It isn’t _bad_ at all. It’s right, and natural, and inevitable, and when you’re ready, it will be perfect. But I don’t think you’re nearly ready yet.”

“Ready for what?”

He gave an agonized grimace and bit out, “To hear any of my sordid fantasies. I have been waiting for you for years. It only stands to reason that I’ve been imagining what it would be like when we were finally together.”

_Sweet Merlin, he just admitted he’s been having fantasies about me_. “I may not be ready yet, but I’m sure I will be soon. After all, we’re getting married in less than ten days.”

That seemed to reassure Draco, as did the kiss that Hermione impulsively pressed to his lips. He looked at her in amazement and brushed a curl from her face with his hand. “You’re my witch.”

“I am.”

“Finally.”

They stayed side by side, leaning against the bookshelf and each other for a long time, and there was no need for conversation. Harry finally hunted them down when the library was closing, and they left the library holding hands.

Back at the Gryffindor commons, she and Harry flopped down to play Exploding Snap for a while. Hermione wanted time away from her thoughts, and Harry apparently couldn’t sleep without at least one witch in his bed. Either way, neither was ready to be alone, and the ensuing hilarity of dodging detonating cards was exactly what they both needed.

Halfway through their third game, Ron came down from the boys’ dorms with his arm around Parvati Patil’s waist. “Hi, Harry! What’s up, ‘Mione?”

Harry looked up with a somewhat forced smile, and Hermione waved her right hand, making sure her left one was sufficiently hidden. Ron disengaged himself from Parvati and walked over to his friends. “I’ll play winner of this round. Mione, you’re never around recently. Why’s that, do you suppose?” 

Hermione glanced at him and gave a shrug, then turned back to the game. “Hmmmmm. It’s your turn, Harry.” _Idiot!_

Ron sat down beside her and bumped his shoulder against hers. Hermione shifted slightly away from him and gave him what she was sure was an uncomfortable smile, then returned her focus to the game. He reached out toward her robe-wrapped left hand and said moodily, “You never spend any time with me any more, ‘Mione. I miss you.”

As his fingers made contact with the fabric-covered hand, Hermione snatched it away as if he had a case of Spattergroit.

“Don’t!” She hissed angrily and added, “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron whined, and then turned on Harry. “This has something to do with the way you two have been so cozy lately!”

“She’s like a sister to me, and you know it, Ron.” Harry looked toward Hermione and nodded his head toward the stairs to the girls’ dorms. _Absolutely. I refuse to deal with him right now._ She called out a general ‘good night’.

Ron ignored her and said loudly, “She’s not joining your harem!”

The last thing she heard as she left the room was Harry. “Just _shut up_ , Ron! You don’t know _anything_!”

_Last week I would have gladly held his hand and listened to his excuses like they were lover’s whispers. Now I can’t stand the sight of him._ Hermione shuddered at the thought that she might have eventually married Ron if Lucius and Draco hadn’t cast their stake early and unanimously. 

  
  


Late that night, as Hermione lay in her bed thinking back over her evening with Draco, a lightning-bolt thought occurred to her. She sat upright in bed. _He only said he had to think of me respectfully when he was WITH me! He WAS . . . doing what Harry said . . . in the shower before our first library date!_

The imbalance of the courtship rules for her and her betrothed would have made her furious at any other time, but she had been assailed by a very . . . _disrespectful . . ._ mental image of a beautiful, showering Draco, thinking of her while bringing himself to a powerful climax.


	20. Friday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


The next morning Hermione woke before the sun with a smile on her face, which was quickly replaced with a frown as she recalled what had happened in the commons the previous evening.  _ Was he always headed in this direction? _

She was glad she’d left quickly, although the Gryffindor in her winced at what might be perceived as cowardice. On the contrary, in that blood-boiling moment she had physically bitten her tongue to keep from standing her ground and confronting Ron with his behavior. For a second, she’d wanted to show him the beautiful dragon on her hand and tell him everything. Then that same strong instinct had arisen -  _ not yet _ , it had said with finality, and then she’d met Harry’s eye and they’d exchanged that silent communication of strategy. It wasn’t the right time for that conversation. When it did happen, it would most likely end a friendship - possibly two, if Harry took sides with her - forever.

_ Last Thursday I accidentally changed the course of my life, and now, here I am thinking what a lucky thing that was. _ Hermione would have dallied under her coverlet until her usual rising time, but she caught sight of the beautiful grey gown hanging from the door of her wardrobe. That was enough to have her springing out of bed and scrambling for her robe and shower caddy.

Half an hour later, she was back in her room carefully drying her curls with her wand. It was a fussy process but worth the effort, especially when she took the time to add a healthy dollop of Sleakeazy’s Hair Potion (which she bought by the case). The end result was a silky head of spiraling curls that cascaded past her shoulders.

Satisfied with the resulting mass of ringlets, Hermione took off her robe and slipped into the set of underthings she’d bought to wear under her bottle-green dress. Ginny had insisted that every witch needed pretty knickers and a matching bra, and so Hermione had blushingly picked out a set in dark green satin. Wizarding lingerie styles were a bit behind those of the Muggle fashion world, and there was really nothing to blush about, when she thought about it now. The knickers covered her adequately, and the strapless bra was lacy but certainly not naughty. It lifted her small round breasts up and pushed them together just enough to deepen the small valley between them, and she caught herself palming her breasts experimentally. She snatched her hands away at once. _Let’s not start that again!_

Finally, she took the grey silk dress from its hanger and stepped into it. Hermione looked into the mirror and saw a beautiful young stranger. She was garbed in an empire-waisted gown that hung from her shoulders by thin straps. The simple cut dipped just low enough in the front to reveal the tops of her breasts, which looked lush and full because of the bra’s shaping. It ran like water down her torso to hug the curves of her figure and then flowed to her feet in undulating waves.  _ It’s like wearing river-water. _ Hermione turned, and the mirror-stranger’s dress rippled and dappled in the light. She took a few steps, watching the way the heavy silk followed her movements in a delayed manner, making it seem as though she were moving through water. _ I look lovely. And sexy. I want Draco and Lucius to see me in this dress. _

She needed to show someone immediately, and ran to Ginny’s room in hopes of finding her there. After much urgent knocking, the redheaded witch finally opened her door while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Mindful that the dorm was full of waking witches, Hermione tried to keep her voice to a loud whisper. “Oh, Gin - I’m so glad you’re here! I was afraid you’d be in Harry’s room.”

Ginny hadn’t opened her eyes enough to notice her friend’s splendor. She said quietly, “Mmm-mmm. Ron pitches a fit when I sleep there, so Luna keeps Harry company most nights.”

Hermione had had enough waiting. She shook Ginny to get her attention and twirled in front of her. She whispered, “Draco gave it to me! Isn’t it gorgeous? He asked me to wear it today for the visit!”

Ginny was immediately awake and suitably impressed. “Gorgeous is right!  _ Mother of magic _ .”

She was looking at Hermione critically. “You need to put on a bit of makeup - but just a bit - so that you’re wearing the gown and not the other way around. Can you manage that on your own?”

Hermione thought she could.

“Good. Oh, and-” Here her friend looked up and down the corridor and then dragged Hermione back to her own room. “You’re going to have to glamour that just a bit unless you’re going for full and immediate disclosure of the courtship.”

“Yes, I know, but not until I absolutely  _ have to _ . I feel like a princess.”

Ginny smirked. “That’s because you’re wearing a gown that probably cost as much as my parents’ house.”

Hermione gave her friend an impulsive hug. “Thank you, Gin, for everything. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’d be a wreck, believe me, I know. And you’re welcome. Now hurry up and disguise that thing before someone sees it!”

When the two girls met Harry and Luna in the commons, it looked as though Hermione was wearing her school uniform under her robes, but she had a little more makeup on than usual, and her chocolate-colored curls were elaborately piled and pinned up by her silver hair comb. Luna noticed right away. “Look, Harry! Hermione looks like a princess in disguise today, doesn’t she?”

Harry glanced at Hermione and responded, “’Mione always looks like a princess.”, but he looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. She smiled and shook her head. It had been enough to share her secret with Ginny. She was looking forward to keeping it to herself now until the glamour came off for the visit.

Her friends dropped her off at the Headmaster’s office on their way to the great hall. The sound of Molly Weasley’s strident laughter met her ears when she entered. As she closed the door behind her, she processed the distinctly girlish giggle of Astoria, followed by an exclamation from Minerva.  _ Great and Merciful Merlin, no good can come of those three together in one room. _ Hermione approached the table with trepidation.

Molly was in the middle of an anecdote involving her, two of her husbands, and a garden swing. Hermione decided to take control of the conversation  _ immediately _ . “We are absolutely  _ not _ discussing anything even remotely capable of making me blush this morning.”

Astoria argued, “But Hermione, Mrs. Weasley has a wealth of information regarding sex!”

“Which is something I’d rather not talk about!”  _ At least, with these two listening in. _

“Good morning, sweetheart! Let’s get you some tea and something to eat. That should shake you out of that grouchy mood!” Molly’s voice had taken on the tone one would use with a petulant child, and she was filling a plate as if Hermione were indeed five years old.

“Errr, thank you Molly, but I can do that myself.”

“Nonsense! How many more opportunities will I have to coddle you, Hermione? Next week you’ll be married off to Lucius and Draco and the next I see you, you’ll be all grown up.”

“I’m quite grown up now, thank you.” Hermione looked up, eyes narrowed, ready to say something she knew she’d regret later, but noticed tears in Molly’s eyes.

All fight left her, and she asked in concern, “What’s wrong, Molly?”

The motherly witch tried to smile even as her chin trembled. She leaned forward to pat Hermione’s hand. “This was supposed to have gone differently - or at least, I thought it was. You were going to be my daughter, and be married to Bill and Charlie and Percy, or Fred and George and Ron. Arthur and I were taking bets on whom you’d choose.”

Molly laughed tearfully as she said, “I was sure you’d end up with Bill and Charlie. They’re both such wonderful men! Arthur leaned toward the twins. And the oldest two sat the twins down two Christmases ago to talk about a possible merger.”

Hermione thought back to her conversation with Ginny, and her initial question about the possibility of having to marry six husbands.  _ I can’t believe I thought that was a possibility - of course there’d be a split! More than four husbands would be ridiculous, and actually two is perfect.  _ She realized how far she’d been stretched in the past week.  _ I remember how appalled I was at the idea of two husbands not that long ago - and now listen to me! _

Molly continued, “I imagined a lifetime of meals just like this one. Now we have a little more than a week before you’re gone. Please, Hermione - please let me take care of you until then, sweetheart.”

Of course Hermione relented. However, Molly’s idea of taking care of her involved keeping her plate and cup constantly full and worrying that she looked a bit on the thin side. After the fifth such comment and the eighth offer of another scone, Hermione fell into the older witch’s clever trap. At least, that’s how it seemed in hindsight.

It started with Minerva remarking to Molly as an aside that Ginny would probably need more underthings soon, as Harry had a habit of tearing off her knickers and leaving them wherever they happened to land. Molly laughed behind her hand and started to reply, then turned to Hermione with a contrite look. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot about your topic rule!”

Hermione was feeling generous because Molly had forgotten to refill her plate, and said, “Please don’t mind me, Molly. I was being over-sensitive.”

That was all it took for the conversation to, in Hermione’s opinion, devolve. One Harry story led to three, Minerva added whiskey to her coffee, and her new blonde friend showed exactly how uninhibited she truly was. Apparently things were progressing far more quickly within the impending Nott household, and by  _ things _ she meant acts which she considered to fall under ‘perversion’. In fact, Hermione mentally dubbed the three wizards the Notties, and several minutes later amended that to the Kinkies. 

“Wait! Astoria, I know I said I didn’t mind talking about . . . errrrr . . .  _ sex _ , but I honestly don’t even think most of what your wizards seem to enjoy is mainstream. Could you, ummmmm, stick to talking about normal sex?”  _ I cannot believe that asking that feels like the safer choice with these three. _

“Oh! Of course, Hermione - I sometimes don’t think about how different our wizards might be,” her friend giggled, and then asked Molly for advice on oral sex. And, of course, Molly wanted specifics.

“We started a few days ago. I asked Theodore if I could do something to please him especially, and he showed me how to take him in my mouth. I like doing it, but no matter how many times I try, it seems like I’ll never get it right.”

Molly was very sympathetic. “Oh yes, I remember how I struggled with that. Septimus taught me oral sex - I think it’s a very fitting lesson for the eldest husband to teach. You just keep practicing. I’m sure Theodore knows you want to please him, and will be patient. Don’t forget, dear - wizards enjoy a blow job regardless of the skill level - it all feels good!”

_ I don’t want to know. _ Hermione was blushing so deeply that she could feel the heat rolling off her face, but Molly and Astoria were relentless.

“I can’t help but gag a lot. It’s not the message I want to send to my wizards!”

“You’ve got to relax your throat, sweetheart. It takes practice.”

_ Oh, sweet Circe, please don’t . . . _

“I can with Theodore, but Nick and Theo thrust so deep and fast right away!”

_ Too much information! _

“They’re boys, that’s the difference. This is all new to them, and they’re eager to enjoy your services. In time they’ll find their control, and then you’ll be able to take them down like a pro.”

_ Please let that satisfy Astoria! Please, let’s talk about something - anything - other than blowjobs! _

Astoria was indeed satisfied, but now wanted to know what Molly thought of sex toys and light bondage. That was enough to send Hermione bolting from her chair. “Oh, look at the time! Sorry, but I must get to my first class immediately. Minerva, would you mind . . .?”

Minerva reluctantly left the table, practically dragged out of the room by Hermione. The lack of erotic conversation seemed to bring the professor out of her haze, and she remembered to remind the young witch that there would be a visit after dinner. Not that she’d forgotten - Lucius’ note had been tucked in her pocket since she’d received it yesterday, and every so often she ran her fingers over its shape in anticipation.

Hermione felt Draco’s eyes on her wherever she went. In Herbology, he made several trips past her table to the storeroom. Each time he passed, his gaze traveled over her and lingered on her hair and robes, and she knew he was wondering about what she wore. It seemed like the stretch of air between them crackled with heat and magic. She’d never seen such an intense look on his face, and felt her body responding to it.  _ Sweet Circe, my knickers are completely soaked and he hasn’t even touched me. _

Hermione wondered how he managed to navigate the classroom without ever watching where he was going. On his fourth trip, Professor Sprout reminded him kindly to bring a pot back with him to his station. On the way out of the classroom, Draco bent to her ear as he passed and asked quietly, “Are you wearing my dress?”

She blushed and called out, “Yes!” to his already retreating form.

  
  


Ron was really an arse at lunch. He had begun to take offense to every thing Hermione did, said, and wore. She ate her meal as quickly as possible, keeping her marked left hand in her lap the whole time.  _ I’m not afraid to tell him in the slightest - but with the way he’s been acting, he doesn’t deserve to know! Besides, he’ll only be a troll about it. Only he could be so completely clueless. What did I find attractive about him? _ She knew that Draco was listening, and tried her best to avoid eye contact with him. It was impossible, and when she finally caved and glanced his way he winked at her and smiled. That was enough to carry her through the rest of Ron’s horridness.

She, Harry, and Luna left the table as soon as they could, leaving Ginny with her brother. Hermione was tempted to feel badly about that until Harry reminded her that, really, they were doing Ginny a favor - it was the perfect opportunity for her to screech at someone without having guilt later.

  
  


The afternoon dragged on, and Hermione was relieved when her last class was dismissed early. She decided to pass the time with a nap. In the haven of her room, she flopped down across her bed and stared at the ceiling for a long while. Eventually she fell asleep. Her dreams were vivid. In them, she danced with Ron at the Slytherin house party as Draco watched from a short distance. She felt Draco’s eyes burning against her skin, and in her dream-state it felt rational to control the searing heat of his gaze by removing her dress. It dropped to the floor and she saw Ron’s gaze turn predatory and his hands shoot out to grope her bare body, just as she felt the cool rough fabric of a robe falling over her. Large, gentle, familiar hands wrapped the fabric around her and scooped her up like a baby. Then she was in a dark forest, and it was night. The savage calls of Death Eaters rang around her, and she was running for her life. Suddenly there was a shadowy man-shape standing between her and the enemy, and the shape was pulling her behind it protectively.

_ “You shall not touch her!”  _ The man-shape called out in a soft husky voice, to which the Death Eaters responded by questioning its authority.

There was another man-shaped shadow beside the first one now. It answered the Death Eaters in a rich baritone. _ “She is ours. Do you not see our mark on her skin? _ ” At this, the robe was pulled from her bare form, and two sets of large hands kept her from covering herself. Dream-Hermione looked down upon herself and saw a strange mark, like a rune, on the soft skin above her right breast. The Death Eaters screamed out in frustration and then in their place stood Ron, his face curled in a sneer that was both hateful and lascivious.

_ “Take your hands off her! She’s mine!”  _ The Ron in Hermione’s dream raked his eyes over her figure lewdly, and the shadow men draped the robe back around her.

_ “You made no claim, Pureblood, and now she is the prize of another House.” _

_ “No! She was meant to be mine! My brothers placed war-stakes on her; I am the only one of my family who has not. I will not until it is the last option!” _

Dream-Hermione gasped at this admission, and Ron’s face morphed into horror as he realized what he had said in front of her. The shadow-men stood on either side of her now, towering over her diminutive size. Their hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she felt comfort and strength trickling down through her skin and into her entire body.

_ You do not want her for yourself, yet you would keep her from those who do. You are the lowest of men. Leave and do not trouble us again.” _

Hermione woke slowly, and the dream played about in her head over and over. She thought of the years she had waited for Ron, and the many girls he had pursued and enjoyed openly while stringing her along with occasional smiles and hand holding. How many nights had she left the house common room crushed that it was some other girl, and not her, snuggled up with him before the fireplace? 

Then she thought of Draco, of his solemn care and courtesy, and of the many times he had hovered nearby and yet just out of her line of sight. She remembered him taking the firewhiskey from her sternly at the Gryffindor party, and intercepting her attempts at flirting with Ron. Both times, she realized now, he had been acting out of concern for the witch he already considered his own. She had never seen him with another girl, never heard any rumors about one, either. He had given her his first kiss. They had only just met, really, and yet their relationship seemed . . . bespoke. Each kiss he had both taken and given came to mind, and replayed over and over again for a long time. Once again, Hermione found her heart racing.

Draco was exactly the sort of man she’d wanted Ron to be - passionate but tender, protective and proud of her. The fact that she was marrying him next week might be an accident, but it was a happy one. And Astoria was right - Hermione knew in her heart that this was meant to be, and that she would never have rejected the war-stake in the end. 

She wanted this young wizard in a way that was new and slightly terrifying. She wanted to kiss him and touch him - and to be kissed and touched in return. She could imagine them wrapped passionately around each other in a large bed, in a shower, on a table, on a couch -Harry’s sexcapades were proving useful, as she re-cast each of them with her and Draco in the lead roles. Hermione felt a burn of desire wash over her.  _ I want to finger feed him pudding and lick his mouth. And take him in my hand and bring him to climax at the lunch table. And feel his fingers slide inside of me, teasing me until I beg for- _ She shook herself from that course of thought. It would only wind her up.

Lucius came to mind. The thought of marrying a man nearly twenty years her senior had unnerved her at first, especially one as sophisticated and confident as him. Yet from the first time he’d sat her on his knee, his large hands had been warm and gentle on her waist, and his beautiful voice had been quiet in her ear. His solicitude extended to the attentive way he listened to her conversation, and to his teasing manner, which he used to keep the more intense side of his personality from frightening her away.

She had been caught and held captive at Malfoy Manor toward the end of the war. The Death Eaters had thrown her to the ground before Lucius and left the room at his command. As she had lain there, bleeding and sure of her impending death, he had frowned at her, and in the moment she thought he was plotting her torture. But then he had placed a disillusionment charm on her and whisked her to the deepest dungeon possible beneath the old house. There, cold and hungry but blessedly untouched, she had waited out her rescue. Even then, it seemed that he had been concerned for her safety, because Hermione was certain that by sentencing her to such misery, Lucius Malfoy had saved her life.

And three years ago, when she had escaped from his dungeon, he’d left the subterfuge of being a double agent. He (and Draco) had cast a war-stake for her and openly joined the fight against the Dark Lord merely because the opposing side - the  _ good _ side - was willing to promise the possibility of her hand to the House of Malfoy in exchange. 

He would make an excellent husband. She was sure of this even though they had only just met. He would be the sort of man who cared for her needs and wellbeing; who sought to make her comfortable, even though, for now, that meant tempering his own personality. He would love her, and she would most certainly learn to love him. And she wanted to do all the things she had just imagined doing with Draco with him, as well. The thought of being with him sent a frisson of desire through her body.

Lucius was a dominant wizard, and Hermione knew without a doubt that she would submit to him at times. He would, no doubt, teach her the kinds of things that Theodore was teaching Astoria. ‘ _ He taught me how to take him in my mouth,’  _ her friend had said. Here in her room, without the embarrassment of voicing these private thoughts aloud with the likes of Molly and Minerva, Hermione found that the idea of pleasing Lucius in such a way was incredibly arousing. 

_ Lucius and Draco are my wizards. Mine. It’s time to tell Ron, and time to stop hiding my betrothal from everyone else as well. _ _ It’s time to call Draco and Lucius by name, and to stop being so embarrassed about everything. It’s time to be the witch I was meant to be. _

  
  
  
  
  



	21. Friday Evening

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday Evening

It was time for dinner, according to her growling stomach. She sent a quick Galleon message to Harry, stretched, and got up to make herself presentable. Gone forever was the Hermione who didn’t care what she looked like. In her place, was a new creature, not yet completely self-assured but certainly not timid. Her natural confidence, which had been ebbing for most of the past week, surged forth.

Hermione waved her wand in the direction of her nap-wrinkled clothes and set them to rights with a simple grooming charm. She touched up her make-up, and then re-piled her hair on her head and secured it with the beautiful, emerald-studded silver comb. On impulse, she dropped her glamour to reveal the breathtaking dress beneath - the one she’d been planning to conceal until the after-dinner visit with her wizards. As she was about to leave her room, Hermione looked at herself one last time in the mirror and was shocked by how much she had changed in a week. She looked . . . No fitting word came to her mind. 

  
  


She looked _something_ , whatever that something was, judging by some lingering looks from the other students as she and Harry swept into the great hall. Her longest school robes covered most of the gown, showing just an inch or two of the rich silk fabric swirling around her feet. Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor table as quickly as possible. Ginny and Luna were already there, and Ginny grinned at her as she sat down.

“‘Lo, ‘Mione. Hot date tonight? Who’s the lucky Malfoy?” her friend asked sotto voce.

“Shut it, you!” she snapped, but she was grinning.

Ron was seated a few places down at the table, his arm thrown around Lavender Brown’s shoulders, but his smile turned to a frown when he saw Hermione.

“Oi! ‘Mione! What are you doing all tarted up? You don’t even look like yourself!”

She raised her startled face to meet Ron’s, and in the process saw Draco watching warily from the Slytherin table just behind Ron’s back. _This is what I get for not seeing Ron for what he actually was years ago and putting him in his place - back when I knew he was an idiot_ _and could punch him without worrying about the Malfoy reputation!_ She fumed inwardly. And took the high road.

“Hello, _Mr._ _Weasley_. Pass the rolls, please?

Ron Weasley’s face was slowly turning an ugly shade of red, and it looked as though steam was threatening to blow from his ears. “Hermione! You really should go and wash your face. Who’re you trying to impress, anyway?”

She flushed from the unwanted, demeaning attention and knew that Draco was hearing every loud word being said. In fact, judging by the silence that was falling around them, a lot of people were hearing Ron. She tried to keep her voice steady and firm as she replied, “Please, just stop. You have no right to say any such thing to me. You’re not my brother, and you’re not my boyfriend. Now, are you going to pass the rolls or not?”

He grabbed at the basket of rolls nearest him and shoved them toward Hermione so that they spilled everywhere. And when she jumped up from the table to avoid the buttered bread, Ron noticed as her robes parted and revealed her gown. “ _Merlin_ , ‘Mione! Go and put your regular clothes on, will you?! You’re done up like a Knockturn Alley slag tonight!”

Harry chose at this moment to step in. He looked appalled. “Come on, Ron! She looks nice. This is our Hermione we’re talking about, mate! She could never look like a . . . like _that!”_

“Says the Boy With His Hands up Two Skirts! Stay out of it, Potter!” Ron’s voice was even louder now, and Hermione knew that the time had finally arrived. She stood, letting her school robes slide from her shoulders, and spoke to Ron, pointing at him with her left hand. It brought her handmark to his attention for the first time. There were audible gasps, and the sound of whispering broke out at the tables nearest her.

“Leave Harry alone. He’s done nothing wrong, and neither have I for that matter!” She spoke in a quiet, deadly voice, but it seemed to carry to many ears.

Ron was staring at the beautiful dragon marking. Now that she had removed her robes, it could be seen twisting from her ring finger, around her hand, and up her forearm. He stood now, too, raging, and he left any pretense of a private conversation behind as he began shouting at Hermione.

“You cow! You bitch! You were supposed to be mine after school! Haven’t I made that clear enough for you? You were supposed to WAIT!”

Hermione’s eyes stung with furious tears. _How could he?!_ _After nearly eight years spent side-by-side, after everything we’ve done, and seen, and been through together - even if he weren’t suggesting he’d had expectations that we would be together, how could he talk to me like this?_

The entire student body had grown silent at Ron’s outburst. The teachers watched gravely from the dais. She felt rather than saw Draco approaching from her right, and gave a small shudder of relief when she felt his hand come to rest in the small of her back. He stood there quietly as she absorbed the strength lent by his presence. Finally her chin came up. Her voice was clear and carried for quite a distance. “You made no claim, and now I am the prize of another House.” 

She heard Draco give a deep sigh and then let him direct her toward the back of the great hall, toward the doors. Halfway there, he broke away and walked back to the Gryffindor table. He leaned aggressively over the table above a cringing Ron and spoke quietly. Draco stood frozen in a striking position of dominance for several moments with his wand drawn on Ron, perhaps waiting for a sign that his words had hit their mark. The redhead finally dropped his eyes in submission.

“Draco.” _Did I say that?_ It couldn’t have been very loud if she had, but then again the great hall was completely silent. He turned his head toward her slowly. Hermione held out her left hand to him, leaving it raised and outstretched for everyone to see. 

Draco was still immobile, leaned over Ron, but looking at her. She said his name again, louder this time, and couldn’t help smiling when he abruptly straightened up and glided across the room to her. _He’s dangerous. Just not to me._ Then his eyes locked on hers, and Hermione forgot everything else. He reached her, his large form shielding her from the bulk of the student body as a feeling of precognition washed over her. _This is how it will be. He’ll allow me to defend myself because he knows I need that, and he’ll protect me because that’s what he needs._

“Shall we go?” His usually soft, husky voice was deeper and laced with adrenaline. Draco once again placed his hand on the small of her back and turned her in the direction of the doors. They left the silent hall behind them.

The two paused outside in the castle entry, suddenly aware that they were breaking the most important rule of the courtship by being alone together. Draco stepped away from her awkwardly. 

“We should wait here for the Headmaster. I’m sure someone’s on their way now.”

“I could-”

Draco raised an eloquent eyebrow as he cut her off. “I don’t think letting you out of my sight is a good idea. You’ve gotten yourself in enough trouble tonight already, and that was with me at your side.”

_He’s teasing me! Oh, Merlin - he’s twinkling at me, too!_ She swooned a little, and Draco’s handsome face became smug when he realized this. They stood far across the entry from each other until Harry rescued them about five minutes later, barging noisily through the doors as if to give them warning of his approach. 

He was grinning. “That was quite a scene you two made. Sorry I didn’t come right away, but it was shepherd’s pie for the main course, and that’s no good cold. Just had to finish up quick. I’m to escort the two of you to the kitchen so that you can eat something before your visit - Dumbledore’s request.”

  
  


Hermione hugged him fiercely. “I hope you get lots and lots of extra kinky sex tonight from the girls, Harry.”

She remembered Draco was within earshot, and blushed as she stole a peek from the corner of her eyes. He was blushing and shaking his head as if to rid himself of a thought. _I’ll bet he’s trying to follow Rule Number One_ . _I wonder what he’s thinking that he doesn’t want to tell me._

The house elves seemed to have been expecting them; there was food set out on a table away from the hustle and bustle of the workspaces. Draco spoke briefly with Harry before he left, arranging for him to meet Hermione at the Headmaster’s office at a specific time, and her friend was off like a shot. 

When the meal had been eaten and the table cleared, Draco and Hermione gravitated to each other. He held her hands at her sides and bent to speak close enough to her ear that his breath tickled it.

“Hermione, what you said in there - it was . . .”

“Oh, Draco! I’m so sorry if it was inappropriate! It’s just that-”

He put a warm finger against her mouth, effectively silencing her. “Not inappropriate. Very appropriate. Very . . .very . . .” Words seemed to fail him, and so in their place he showed her exactly how _very very_ her short speech had been. He kissed her thoroughly, wrapping his hands around her sides and sliding his fingers softly along the silk of her gown.

He pulled away slightly and smiled the small, lopsided half-smile that she was coming to adore. 

“Also _very very_ \- you calling me by my given name.” He kissed her again and she moaned against his lips. Their lips repeated the same pleasing motion for some time.

“Hermione.”

“Mmmhmm?” _Is this another one of my Malfoy-induced dreams? If I open my eyes, will I find myself tucked in bed? Better keep them closed, just in case._

He was placing soft kisses on her cheeks now, and his hands were leaving her sides. She heard a little whining noise, and wondered who had made it. Draco’s husky chuckle caused her eyes to fly open then. It had come from her!She flushed, and he watched the color spread over her face.

“I like your noises,” he whispered and stepped back to a respectful distance, “but we should go. I’m sure Lucius is here by now.” 

A house elf accompanied them through the castle on their way to the Headmaster’s office. Hermione wrapped herself in one of Draco’s arms and walked with her head leaning against his side. She held his hand in both of hers, clutching it to her chest. Draco didn’t seem to mind her sudden proprietary use of his body, and she wondered eventually if it had anything to do with the fact that his hand was, in essence, supporting the slight weight of one of her breasts.

“Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“Wear my scarf at the game.”

“Yes.”

“And go with me to the celebration in the village.”

“Can we . . . is that okay to do?”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Well if you’re worried that someone might notice, it’s rather too late for that.”

“Then, yes.”

“And then go with me to the Ravenclaw party tomorrow night.” 

“I’d love to, but . . .”

“I see. Already made plans with another wizard?”

She gave a peal of buoyant laughter. “I was thinking about chaperones, and rules, and all that.”

“Ask Harry if he plans to attend. If he is, we’ll be fine.”

They walked a few minutes in silence.

“Hermione.”

“Yes, Draco?” She looked up to see him smiling.

“I just wanted to hear you say it again.” 

They walked the rest of the way in happy silence.


	22. Friday Evening cont'd

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Friday Evening

The visit was shorter than previous ones. Lucius was obviously exhausted, although he treated Hermione with the same lavish courtesy as always. When he led her to their chair in the alcove, she climbed into his lap before he even was fully seated. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but her beautiful gown worked against her efforts. The glassy texture of the heavy silk caused her to slip from her perch on his thigh and slide down into his lap further, her bum firmly wedged against his groin and her back arched over his arm. He shifted so that her head was in the crook of his arm, which rested on the arm of the chair. She found herself looking directly up into the handsome face of Lucius Malfoy.

“Oh,” was all she could manage.

The weariness fell from Lucius’ face, and he held her in this awkward position with obvious enjoyment. She watched him run his eyes from her face down to her breasts, which were even more exposed in this position, and her breath sped up when he held his gaze there. Leaning down toward her, he removed the hand that secured her and used it to trace the strap of her dress from her shoulder to the top of her breast. She could feel the slight pressure of his fingertip against her skin. He leaned down even further.

“Lady, the things I will do to you I am planning even now,” he murmured. His finger traced the strap back up to her shoulder.

Hermione was frozen in place. She could only watch him as he raised his eyes to hers. Then her curiosity kicked in. “What about Rule Number One?”

He smiled indulgently at her. “And how does that apply, my prize?”

“You can’t think something in my presence unless you can say it out loud to me.”

“That is Draco’s first rule, and as such does not apply to me. I am more than willing to share my desires if you are ready to hear them.” Lucius’ finger was tracing the strap of her gown again, shoulder to breast and back up, repeatedly. 

“What do you think, my lovely? Would you like to hear how I plan to take your innocence, how I will corrupt you? I could start with my thoughts of you in this intoxicating gown.” Lucius’ forefinger had strayed from the silk strap and ghosted over the small swell of her breast that, at this ridiculous angle, threatened to spill from the neckline.

“I . . .” A very small part of her wanted to say  _ yes, tell me _ . However, the greater part of Hermione was suddenly terrified, and her heart began racing under Lucius’ fingertip.

He chuckled. “I have my answer. Otherwise I would enjoy nothing more than to have you squirm in my lap.”

He lifted her back to her usual spot, tucked under his chin, and she filled her lungs with his scent. “Do you have rules, sir?”

His hand was tracing circles in the silk along her back. “Indeed. The most important of which is never to frighten you. Do you understand, now?”

“Oh - before, yes. You knew I wasn’t ready to hear your . . . “

Lucius chuckled again. He raised his hand to catch her chin gently, and he pulled it up so that she was forced to look at him. “Truly I have won an ingénue. My fantasies, pet. That’s the word, isn’t it? Say it.”

She blushed deeply and repeated the word in a whisper as he ran his thumb back and forth over her bottom lip.

Even her embarrassment couldn’t quell her curiosity, and soon (from the safe hiding place between his jaw and shoulder) she asked, “Who made the rules for us, and why are they all different?”

“Draco and I set them. He knows me better than anyone else, and so he chose rules for me which are in keeping with my temperament. I did the same for him.”

“So, you aren’t to frighten me, and he isn’t to be disrespectful.”

Lucius gave a rich laugh. “That young man needs to be kept on his toes. He’s spent far too much time fantasizing about you. He should be talking with you, not hiding in his head.”

The explanation so far made sense to Hermione. She continued, “Who set the rules for me?”

“We both did, of course.”

“So your priority was to . . . “

“To preserve your virtue until the eve of our wedding. It remains our priority, which is why we suffer through meeting in this infernal office.”

“And why Harry has to be with me all the time. I want to give him something, a gift in gratitude for his time, only I can’t think of anything.”

Lucius kissed the top of her head. “Allow me to do this for you. I will talk with Draco to see if he can help think of something fitting.”

She lifted her head to protest, but Lucius was unbending. “Consider it done.”

After that, they fell into comfortable silence. He ran his fingers through her curls and then traced patterns on her back.  _ Astoria was right - I think I might actually purr, it feels sooo good. I wonder if he would like to be touched like this _ . That last thought wasn’t as daunting as it could have been, and for the first time she reached to touch his pale blonde hair. As usual, it was pulled away from his face, bound with a black leather cord, and fell over his shoulder in a long queue.

Hermione stroked the length of it and then twirled it around her finger experimentally.  _ It’s as silky as my dress _ . Lucius closed his eyes in appreciation as she gently played with his hair. On impulse, she stretched up and pressed a kiss to his chin. Eyes still closed, he smiled. “If you were aiming for my cheek you’ve missed your mark, pet.”

“My aim seems to be getting worse every day.”

“Perhaps you should try again.”

“Tomorrow. Come to me tomorrow morning, and I will,” she whispered, with her mouth still close to his jaw. It sounded very much like a promise even to her ears. Not long after he bade her goodnight, trailing a line of lingering kisses along the length of her handmark.

Draco was waiting impatiently for her by the Headmaster’s desk. He took her hand after she had walked Lucius out, and dragged her back to the alcove. He didn’t bother to transfigure the chair, but sank into it and pulled her down into his lap impatiently.

Hermione laughed. “You act like we didn’t just have dinner together!”

He kissed her several times in answer. “That was at least half an hour ago.”

The young witch raised her hand to his fair hair and ran her fingers through it. “Draco, it was  _ only _ a half hour ago.”

Draco leaned into the hand massaging his scalp. “You look stunning tonight. When you took off your school robes in the great hall, I suddenly had a need for everyone to know you were mine.”

“How did you get to my side so quickly? You couldn’t have gone all the way around the tables.”

“I stood on the benches and walked across the tables.” 

He had leaned his mouth down to her shoulder and was now kissing it. Hermione hummed in pleasure and continued to stroke her fingers through his hair.

“Your skin looks radiant in this color, Hermione.”

She would have answered him in thanks, but he had moved back to kissing her mouth. “I’ve decided to tell you something I’m thinking tonight, so I don’t have to stop thinking it.”

“That’s a good - mmmmmm - a good idea.” He was kissing her ear now.

“I want to run my hands over you in this dress, to feel your shape through the silk.”

“Oh, Draco . . . yes, please,” she whispered as he said that last bit against the corner of her mouth. It had become a habit of his, and it drove her crazy in the best of ways.  _ Put your hands on me. _

Draco’s hand came to rest on her leg and haltingly traced its shape up to her hip. He pulled away from her to look at her questioningly. Hermione nodded in reassurance and lifted her face for another kiss.

One kiss became two, became three, and soon the hand that touched her leg moved more confidently. Draco’s long fingers wrapped around the small circumference of her ankle and slowly opened as he drew them up the length of her slender calf and thigh. He stopped when his thumb came within inches of the junction of her legs, and slid his hand to her hip. Then it curved around her backside, squeezing the flesh there before running up her back. 

Now it was brushing across her stomach, then her ribs, and Hermione’s heart began thudding even as she arched into his touch. He ran his hand up her side and then along the length of her bare arm. “Hermione.”

__ Hermione’s body was humming with sensory input. Between the feel of the silk flowing over her skin and Draco’s hands awakening every nerve, she was trembling with pleasure. That hungry, pulling sensation had started again in her gut, and she shifted restlessly in his lap. His fingers were running along her collarbones, now tracing the neckline of her gown, pressing slightly into the soft swell of flesh there. “Draco . . .”

She pulled him down to kiss her again just as his large hand gently cupped her breast. She sighed against his lips. His fingers flexed and she arched against him again. He pulled back, looking down at his full palm with heavy-lidded eyes. She watched him close his eyes and swallow as he drew his hand back down to her waist.

“We should stop.” Draco’s voice sounded rough.

_ No! _ Disappointment flooded her. She was familiar with the resolute look on Draco’s face. It was the same one he’d worn in the past when he was keeping her from trouble. Hermione tried to reason with herself.  _ Maybe he’s trying not to break a rule. I wish I could ask him.  _ She sighed and smiled ruefully. “Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to wear this dress after all.”

Draco shifted awkwardly and moved her to sit a bit farther down on his lap, away from him. He was blushing. “The dress was an excellent idea.”

“It was a very generous gift, and I think you probably spent far too much, but I love it. Thank you.”

“Tonight I’m sending an owl to the witch who made it. She can send the next one right away.”

“Next one? Draco, you don’t need-”

She stopped because he was shaking his head and looking quite serious. “Lucius put her on retainer when you accepted. She’s been working all week, I’m sure. Besides, soon we’ll dress you like this every day.”

His choice of words caused her to shiver.  _ They’re going to dress me _ .  _ That could be interpreted two different ways.  _ Visions of Draco and Lucius sliding clothes on and off her body rose to mind, and Hermione was even more aroused than she’d been when his hands were running over her. She shifted her position on his thighs, trying to quell the feeling.

Draco raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “I think it’s time to say goodnight.” At her sound of protest, he grinned and firmly slid her off his lap. “Harry will be here soon.”

Draco pulled his robes fully around him as he stood. He was blushing and turned away briefly. Hermione was puzzled for a moment before realization struck. _Oh. OH. He’s . . . He was moving me away from his . . ._ _he’s done that before, hide . . .it . . . with his robes. Lucius is right - I’m an ingénue._ Now Hermione was blushing fiercely as well. 

The two did their best to fight through the awkwardness, and spent the next ten minutes talking about the upcoming Ravenclaw party. Draco reminded her to ask Harry, and she agreed happily. When Harry showed up breathless and with his sweater inside out, Draco dropped a kiss on the top of her head and thanked Harry for his trouble, then left quickly.


	23. Friday Evening/Saturday Morning

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: Coquette Kitten

Friday Evening cont’d/Saturday Morning

Hermione and Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower in companionable silence. She spent the time thinking back over the very last part of her visit with Draco, and wondered if Harry would be a willing source of information. It would be embarrassing, of course, but she could get through it. When they got to the Fat Lady’s portrait, Hermione stopped Harry. “Errr, Harry? Could I ask you a question? About . . . guy stuff?”

She had prepared herself for smirking and teasing, but Harry just nodded his head. “Sure, ‘Mione. What do you want to know?”

“Ummm, when you’re . . . I mean, if . . .” She could feel the heat in her cheeks. She took a deep breath and began again. “Okay. Draco and I were . . . I was sitting on his lap, and we were kissing, and he was . . . um, you know - he was touching me . . .”

When Hermione trailed off uncertainly, Harry took the opportunity to say, “Wow, I wouldn’t have thought you’d have got there quite yet, especially with Draco. You’re saying he was . . .” Harry hesitated and looked apologetic, “Sorry, ‘Mione, but I don’t do girly euphemisms. He was fingering you?”

Her face flamed. She said in a mortified tone, “No! He wasn’t . . .! We haven’t . . .!”

“Okay, by the look on your face I’m going to back way up and assume he was touching you in a very general way over your clothes. Am I right?”

She let out a breath of relief. “Yes! Thank you! He was . . . doing that, and he suddenly said we should stop, and moved me away from him a bit, and then we got up and he looked embarrassed and pulled his robes around him . . . _you know_ . . . and I just wanted to know why he was . . . if that feels . . . um, why would that be bad?”

Harry raised his eyebrow and smiled at her. “Sounds like you gave him a little problem. It’s-”

He was interrupted by the Fat Lady herself, who had apparently been eavesdropping. “Oh, if you’re referring to either of the Malfoys I wouldn’t call it a _little_ problem at all! We portraits see _everything_ , let me tell you!”

Hermione wanted to sink through the floor. _Now I won’t be able to look at any portrait in this entire castle ever again._ The Fat Lady continued, “Oh, my dear, don’t be embarrassed. It’s all very natural. Do go on!”

She closed her eyes in shame-faced defeat. Now was not the time to get her answers from Harry. “That’s- Never mind.” She stepped through the portal and began walking towards the stairs to the girls’ dorm.

“Hermione, wait!” Ginny was calling to her from the couches by the fireplace. The common room was occupied by nearly all the witches of Gryffindor as well as few from the other houses, and they looked like they had been waiting for her arrival. It was suddenly quiet, and Hermione felt self-conscious as she realized that now everyone knew of her binding with the Malfoys. _What are they all thinking? Where’s Ron?_ Ginny continued, “All we can talk about is your big news! Congratulations, you lucky, lucky witch!”

Students started clapping and a few whistled. Hermione smiled and glanced around at what she now realized were pleased faces. “Thank you. It’s nice not having it be a secret anymore.” 

She meant it, too. It would be nice to acknowledge her relationship with Draco publicly. _Now we can hold hands in the halls._ _Among other things . . ._ Meanwhile _,_ Hermione had thoroughly searched the room by this point and was relieved not to see Ron.

Ginny came up and hugged her. Her friend must have known exactly what Hermione had been doing, because she whispered, “He’s not here. My dad sent a Portkey with instructions to leave for home right after dinner.”

Out loud she exclaimed, “You look amazing tonight - is this dress from Draco and Lucius? Tell us all about it!”

For the next twenty minutes Hermione was surrounded by well-wishers, being hugged and asked about her courtship and the upcoming wedding. She skirted specific questions, not knowing what was appropriate to share, and was relieved that no one pressed her for more information. In fact, she noticed that the attitudes of her fellow Gryffindors were now tinged with a new respect. For what, though _\- the fact that I stood up to Ron, or that I’m engaged to the Malfoys?_ Whichever it was, it felt nice in a small dose.

She was very aware that Ginny had manipulated the situation completely in her favor and gratefully hugged her. “Thank you, Gin. What would I do without you?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I thought we already established that you’d be a wreck. By the way, that was a very dramatic reveal at dinner. Between Draco walking across the tables to defend you and your beautiful gown, the entire school thinks it was the most romantic thing ever to happen here. Oh, I brought your robes to your room. Just think - you don’t need to hide under them any more!”

Finally Hermione said to the roomful of witches, “Well, as nice as this has been, I need to go to bed.”

She exchanged goodnights with the crowd in general and once again turned toward the dorms. Harry was waiting for her at the base of the stairs. “We never got to finish.”

Hermione blushed. “That’s okay - just forget it, Harry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Yes, you should. Don’t ever be afraid to ask me anything, ‘Mione. You really are a sister to me. We’re family. I will _always_ help you.”

_I don’t think most brothers perform sex acts in front of their sisters, but that’s probably nit picking on my part. And I do love Harry like a brother._ “Thanks. That’s how I feel about you, too.”

He stood beside her, speaking in a very quiet voice. “In answer to your question, Draco stopped because he wanted to keep going, and then found himself with a problem he couldn’t take care of . . . errrr, you obviously prefer when I spell things out. What you two were doing turned him on, but he knew that if he didn’t stop at that point, he would have pushed you too far. Basically, it felt incredibly good, and the consequence of that was an erection he wanted to hide from you. It’s not something guys want girls like you to know about just seven days into the relationship.”

“Girls like me?”

“Nice girls. Innocent girls, who might be unprepared for the fact that their boyfriend has suddenly pitched a tent in his pants - and that tent is actually a skin-covered steel rod they plan to push into their girl’s pussy. Is that spelled out enough for you?”

“Yes. I _was_ unprepared, and it was awkward after that. Do you think he was . . . really uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure he took care of the problem when he got back to his room. And even if he didn’t, I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve given him blue balls. You have even more questions now, don’t you?”

She nodded, blushing again. Harry gave her a one-armed hug and said, “This isn’t the best situation for us to talk freely. How about we take this up another time?”

She gave him a grateful squeeze and called out one last general goodnight as she climbed the stairs. In her room, she stood in front of her mirror for a few minutes, remembering the looks she had received while wearing the dress. Her friends in the commons had been full of admiration and good-natured covetousness. Lucius and Draco had looked at her with blatant desire, trailing their gazes all over her body. She remembered the way Lucius had toyed with the strap and then stroked her bottom lip. Now that she was able to process that moment of seduction away from his burning gaze, she wondered how she hadn’t combusted spontaneously as he touched her. _His intensity is always smoldering right under the surface. That’s what he’s tried to hide from me - but now that I’ve recognized it, I don’t think he can completely do that anymore. He’s right, though; if he fully revealed that side of himself to me right now, I’d be terrified. And I’ve all but promised that I’ll kiss him in the morning._

Soon, she knew she’d be ready for Lucius unleashed. The disparity between the passion in his eyes and the gentleness of his hands came to mind. _No matter how intense he might be, he will never hurt me. We were meant for each other._ The thought of his hands moving over her body as he voiced his fantasies made the inner muscles of her pelvis clench pleasurably, and she felt that increasingly familiar ache of physical desire fill her. _I’m going to kiss Lucius in the morning._ She physically shook herself. _I need to think about something else._

She willed her mind elsewhere as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, and then got into bed. _They’re going to give me another beautiful dress_. The thought made her smile into her pillow with delight. She remembered the conversation. Hermione had been resistant to another extravagant gift, but Draco had brooked no argument. As she was falling asleep, two things occurred to her. 

Firstly, Draco was very much like Lucius at times. When the two of them decided on something, it would happen. This might cause some friction in their relationship, because eventually Hermione would be back to her usual confident self. Secondly, Draco had probably already fantasized about her in the past hour and, as her ‘brother’ had so eloquently put it only a few nights ago, _rubbed one out_.

* * * * *

The Malfoy owl woke her up again the next morning. This time the note on the beautiful vellum parchment read, 

_I will come to collect on your promise at 7:00 this morning. Yours, L._

She didn’t even bother to offer the haughty bird a treat, but shooed it off the window ledge with a very short reply. 

_7:00. Yours, H._

Hermione had shivered and her heart had picked up its pace when she’d decided to add that extra word, but she had also smiled in satisfaction. Now she wondered what Lucius’ reaction would be when he saw it. _It’s true, though - I’m as much his as he is mine._ She sent a Galleon message to Harry _Vst at 7am pls_ and waited for his reply. Only a few minutes later he responded _Ok_ , and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Now she began her morning routine in earnest. It would be a busy day - first the visit with Lucius ( _for the express purpose of kissing him_ , she reminded herself needlessly), and then the Quidditch match and ensuing celebration. She could worry about the Ravenclaw party later. 

Hermione tried to plan accordingly. Before the death of her parents and complete immersion in the wizarding world, Hermione would have without doubt worn jeans and a T-shirt. However, now more than ever she was aware that, regardless of the practicality, witches wore skirts or dresses unless flying a broom. Even then, their trousers were quite different from jeans. _What can I wear that’s pretty enough for the breakfast visit, functional enough for the match, and a combination of both for the trip to the village?_ She looked through her wardrobe several times before giving in to the urge to wake Ginny. 

The redheaded witch wasn’t happy about being awakened early on a Saturday morning, but Hermione offered no apologies. “I need your help, so wake up and meet me in my room in ten minutes.”

Ginny dragged herself to Hermione’s bed within the allotted time and flopped down pathetically. The curly-headed witch rolled her eyes and thumped her friend with a pillow as she scolded her. “Wake,” _thump_ , “up!” _thump._

“Give me one good reason,” Ginny murmured sleepily into the coverlet.

“I,” _thump_ , “am meeting Lucius,” _thump_ , “To kiss him,” _thump_ , “because I promised last night!” _thump, thump, thum-_

Ginny grabbed the offending pillow, sitting upright and looking much more alert. “You haven’t kissed him yet?”

“Of course I have - on the cheek, on the chin, just never on the mouth. He’s been teasing me about it all week, and last night I asked him to come this morning.”

“To claim his kiss,” her friend clarified.

“Errrr, yes. So if you wou-” she was interrupted by happy shrieks.

“Hermione! That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! Sweet Circe on a broom - this is the kind of thing you read about in my mum’s romance novels!”

“Yes, fine! It’s romantic - either that or pathetic. Now be quiet and listen to me!” She quickly explained her dilemma and requirements.

Ginny was a lot of things: bossy, impatient, intolerant . . . however she was also generous, hard working, and, above all, creative. She set to work on her friend’s problem and ransacked her own wardrobe. Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was dressed in a dark brown skirt that was gathered just enough to be pretty, but slim enough so it wouldn’t be caught in a strong breeze. Best of all, it was made of light flannel and would be perfect for sitting in the stands. Ginny’s loan included a satiny, cream-colored button-down shirt. “Now put on your flats, and you’ll be set. Can you manage to find Harry on your own, or do I need to do that, too?”

“Thanks, Gin. You’re the best!”

“I know. Now go kiss your wizard. And take notes - I want to hear all about it later!”

“Got it!” Hermione snatched up a hairbinder and purse, and flew down to meet Harry in the commons.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. Saturday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Chapter 24 - Saturday Morning

Hermione arrived at the door to the Headmaster’s office at the same time as Lucius, who drew her hand under his arm. In the doorway, he released her and paused. She halted her forward progress just as his fingers brushed the back of her neck and toyed with her loose curls. Her eyes closed partway and shivered in pleasure at his touch.

“Into the office with you now, before I thoroughly terrify you,” he murmured. 

That broke the spell; Hermione gave a soft snort of laughter and obeyed. She was momentarily distracted by the choice of seating. The table was set up as it usually was by the fireside, but there was only one chair. 

Professor Dumbledore was nowhere in sight. She paused. “Don’t we need a chaperone?”

“The Headmaster’s in his chambers.” Lucius’ head nodded in the direction of the half-opened door at the other end of the room. He drew Hermione toward the table by her hand, and she realized immediately that he expected her to sit on his lap.  _ We’re practically alone. It’s like Wednesday, only this time I’ve promised to kiss him. _ She felt her heart begin to pound. 

Lucius sat and pulled Hermione across his lap in one fluid movement and leaned his head down next to hers. Hermione tried to shut out the sensations of his lips moving against her ear as he murmured, “I’ve decided to introduce you to a pureblood wizarding tradition. It’s customary for wizards to feed their witches on special occasions.”

Lucius broke off a small piece of scone and brought it to her lips, keeping his eyes locked with hers. As she took it into her mouth, her tongue brushed his finger. His eyes darkened, and he looked away briefly. “Would you like tea?”

“Yes, please. Black with-” 

“Two lumps of sugar.” At her questioning look, he explained, “Our last breakfast.”

Lucius fed her breakfast almost entirely by hand, only using a fork for the gooey egg. He raised her cup to her mouth, brushed away stray crumbs with his fingers, and watched her with obvious fascination. The meal was almost over at this point, and Lucius was hand-feeding her a strawberry he’d dipped it in cream and sugar. His eyes never left her mouth as he gently pushed the ripe fruit between her lips for each bite, and when she was done he used his thumb to wipe her lip clean.

Hermione was suddenly aware of every one of Lucius’ movements. Back and forth went his thumb, stroking gently but firmly against her bottom lip and pulling it to run ever so slightly inside. She remembered last night’s visit, and the position she’d been in his lap as he’d done the same thing to her mouth. 

Her heart seemed to skip a beat, and she felt her eyelids lower even as her occupied mouth moved to give his thumb a wet kiss. She stole a glance at his face. Lucius’ eyes had darkened and his eyes were on her mouth. “I think it’s time to practice your aim, pet. Are you done?”

_ He’s seducing me _ .  _ I want to be seduced by Lucius _ . She was overcome with a feeling of skittishness, but the curl of desire that began twisting inside Hermione was stronger. She nodded when he asked, “Shall we move to our usual spot?”

Lucius led her to their chair in the alcove. He watched her with a predatory look in his eye, and Hermione felt very much like prey. He stretched out his long legs in a casual manner, but Hermione wasn’t sure at all how he expected her to sit down. Wordlessly, he took her by the hand and led her between his legs, to sit on just one of his thighs. She slowly took her seat in this new position, curling her legs up, and waited for him to put his hands on her waist. When he didn’t, she looked at him, confused. 

Lucius hadn’t taken his gaze from her face, and she was having a hard time reading his expression. “What is it, pet?”

Hermione picked up one of his well-shaped hands and held it to her waist, then did the same to the other. Lucius withdrew them. “Ah-ah-ah. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to put your hands on me.”

“You want me to put my hands on you,” he mused. “I would like very much to do that. How shall I touch you, my lovely?” He raised his hand to trace his forefinger over her collarbones and down her shirt’s front placket of buttons to the waistband of her skirt. Down the placket and then up, each time letting his finger barely trace the inner curves of her breasts. Hermione shivered.  _ If I play with snakes, I mostly certainly will get bitten. But I’m marrying this snake . . .  _

She had been leaning into his touch unconsciously. Now she realized how close she was and blushed, but didn’t move away. He commanded, “Tell me.”

“I want you to put your hands on my waist the way you usually do . . . “ she was trying to remember how to breathe, and her voice was almost a whisper, “ . . . and I think I want you to kiss me.”   
  


Lucius was a tease. He leaned down slowly, eyes on her lips, and hovered over her mouth. When she thought she might die from the anticipation, he barely brushed her lips with his. She felt his hands wrap loosely around her waist at the same time.

“Is that what you think you want?”

The feather-light touch wasn’t what she had wanted from him at all, and her expression must have shown her confusion. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.  _ He wants words _ .

“I want you to kiss me.”

“But I just did, pet.”

Hermione felt a stab of annoyance, and glared at him. She growled, “I want a  _ real _ kiss.”

Lucius’ eyes lit up speculatively.  __ “You’d like a  _ real _ kiss?”

She nodded in relief. “Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Lucius.” _ I will not beg! Yet. _

“Good girl.” That last word was partially lost because he had already lowered his mouth to hers. It was their first kiss, and Hermione immediately began cataloguing the differences between his mouth and Draco’s. Both soft, both warm, both exceedingly gentle at the first touch. Both capable of making her feel that tugging sensation deep within her gut. 

Draco’s first kiss with her had been sweetly tentative and imbued with purity - for a moment it had made her forget the rest of the world. Lucius’ kiss was as sophisticated and subtly aggressive as the rest of him, and it fed her confidence - it gave her the feeling she could  _ conquer _ the world. She decided she liked kissing them both very, very much. 

Lucius began to pull away, but Hermione’s body seemed to take control of itself. She felt herself leaning almost involuntarily into him, closing the gap between their mouths. As their lips met, she felt one of his hands weave into her hair, holding her close. The other pressed firmly against her back, causing her to arch against his chest. She felt the tension of his lips change, felt her own lips part under this new pressure, his tongue sweep over her lower lip. 

This was new. She and Draco had just progressed to open-mouthed kisses, and their tongues hadn’t left either of their mouths yet. Her mouth yielded and responded in kind, and Lucius made a sound of approval. His tongue pushed past her lips now, against her own tongue in a stroking motion, and then retreated briefly. He alternated the sensual pattern -- kiss, nudge, tease, tongue -- until her toes curled within her shoes.  _ He’s teaching me. He’s going to teach me all kinds of wicked things _ . When she hesitantly copied him, he smiled against her lips and murmured, “Again.”

Hermione had always been a good student, and she applied all her focus to the task of kissing Lucius as he had just taught her. At first he complied with her lead, but soon took over. His mouth moved to control the kiss, and his tongue gently but firmly pushed hers back.  _ We’re already fighting for control _ . 

Her wizard’s mouth met hers again and again, and the original controlled rhythm slowly changed to a quicker, hungrier one as his careful veneer of control seemed to slip. One of his hands ran along her back and pulled gently at her hair while the other circled her neck, thumb under her chin to keep her head raised. Finally, Lucius drew away from her face breathing heavily. He murmured, “Exquisite.”

His thumb came up to brush against her lip again. “Tell me about last night.”

Regardless of the ambiguity of Lucius’ words, Hermione jumped to the worst possible interpretation. She laid her head on his broad shoulder and bought some time by helping herself to a lungful of the Malfoy scent.  _ How do I say that Draco felt me up and then we had to stop because he wanted to hide his erection from me? I can barely say it to myself! Oh, and then I had to ask Harry why – and he wasn’t even there! _

She absentmindedly stroked a lock of Lucius’ hair as she thought her way through the possible conversation. Finally, the young witch sighed in defeat. “I don’t think I’m quite that brave yet.”

Lucius rubbed her back in soothing strokes. “Surely it can’t be that bad, my prize.”

“It wasn’t bad, just embarrassing to talk about. Draco and I didn’t visit very long, and then Harry and I went back to Gryffindor tower. Most of the witches from my house were waiting to congratulate me, and then Harry and I talked before I went to bed.”

It wasn’t going to be that easy. “Tell me what has you so flustered.”

“I can’t! It’s—“ He had pulled her chin up and was kissing her. Not the short, sweet kiss that she had become accustomed to enjoying over the past week with Draco -- this was another of Lucius’ intoxicating mouthfuls. Hermione was assaulted by the lush sensation of his rough, wet tongue against hers. She was just forgetting her own name when he pulled back to murmur against her lips, “Tell me.”

He kept her jaw firmly in his grasp, but now pulled it down so that he could lean his chin against her forehead. Hermione blushed and was sure he could feel the heat of her face against his. Lucius spoke into her hair. “Draco and I speak by Floo every night. He told me about your visit. Are you uncomfortable telling me that he ran his hands up the length of your lovely legs?”

“No . . .”  _ All-powerful Circe, they talk every night . . .  _ His hand traced a path up the back of her leg where it curled against his. She felt another wave of heat wash over her face before the previous one had even subsided.

“Or that he found that he could palm your delectable backside with one hand?”

She didn’t answer, sure that her blush had raised the temperature of the room by several degrees. His hand followed his words over the curve of her bottom. “Perhaps you don’t want to say that he cupped one of your beautiful breasts and felt its round weight in his hand?”

“Lucius . . .” she pleaded helplessly, and for what Hermione didn’t know. Now he was running his fingers over her hip and up her ribcage to brush against the underside of her breast. Part of the embarrassment she’d felt a few minutes ago was quickly being replaced by want.

“No? None of those things would be difficult to say to me? Shall I go on?”

In an effort to gain some control Hermione managed to breathe, “Please don’t.”

“My darling, you seem to be under the misapprehension that your body and its worship are sources of embarrassment. We will work to correct this. In the meantime, I must tell you I find your utter naiveté captivating.”

Hermione lifted her forehead from his chin to look at him in disbelief. He continued, “It is as much of a gift as your pristine physical purity.”

_He called me his darling._ _I think he just said he’s going to corrupt me._

“As enjoyable as it was to watch you blush, what I actually wanted to hear from you was your very public revelation of the betrothal.”

_ Oh _ .  _ OH. _ “I completely forgot to tell you about it last night! You were so tired at first, and then . . .”

“Yes; as you say,  _ and then _ . Albus briefly told me what happened before you and Draco arrived last night, but I preferred to spend my time with you . . .  _ otherwise _ .”

She blushed yet again. “Didn’t Draco already tell you all about that, too?”

“I want to hear about it from you.”

Hermione launched into a fairly detailed account of last night’s dinner theatre. Lucius seemed to find it amusing and so she spared no details. When she had finished telling him of her dramatic exit with Draco, he looked pleased.

“I thought you might be angry.” 

Lucius laughed out loud. “For what, pet? A lesser man’s jealousy over my beautiful wife-to-be? For your magnificent defense of yourself? For the confidence it has clearly restored in you? The pup has been put in his place. I see no need to pay him more attention than he deserves.” He paused to stroke her cheek. “Nevertheless, you will stay away from him. Draco and I have discussed the events of Wednesday in detail and agree your dizziness could be a result of such close proximity to the Weasley boy.”

“It was punishment for breaking a rule?”

“Not a punishment so much as a warning. It would seem the covenant has taken a rather possessive view of you. But let us discuss this further another time, and finish our conversation about last night’s announcement.”

_ Is he waiting for a response? I should respond. I can’t seem to remember how to talk. Merlin’s beard, his eyes are burning me up. _ “Errrr . . .”

“Your speech brought me great . . .” He leaned closer and brushed his lips against hers, “ . . .pleasure.”

Lucius kissed Hermione until her eyes crossed and her brain was deprived of oxygen. At some point during their time together, he’d pulled her much, much closer to his hip. Now, as she curled even closer to wrap her arms further around his neck, she became aware that her knee was brushing against something that didn’t feel like anything familiar. Either Lucius had something quite large in his pocket, or . . . Her brain flickered to life.  _ Something in his pocket . . . anatomy . . . sweet Circe, mother of magic, I’m in contact with his . . .  _ Hermione froze. 

Lucius broke their kiss and looked down at her with amusement. He seemed to know exactly what was running through her head because he chuckled and kissed her one last time before helping her to her feet. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, pet.”

  
  
  
  



	25. Saturday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Saturday Morning

Lucius’ amusement with her mortification somehow relieved the awkwardness almost immediately, and she found herself laughing as he smiled at her. He was so  _ sure _ of himself, and so comfortable in his own skin.  _ I’m glad he’s going to be my first . . . first. He’ll keep me from being embarrassed even though I won’t know what I’m doing. _

She looked at her wizard appreciatively, taking in his handsome features that were so similar yet so different from Draco’s own. Lucius’ clean, strong build and aristocratic face reflected his personality perfectly - he was the epitome of arrogance and strength blended with an attractive amount of danger, and Hermione  _ liked _ it. 

As they left the alcove, Lucius said, “I hope you don’t mind, but Draco asked me to stay for the match. Please don’t let me keep you from your friends.”

_ Could Lucius Malfoy be feeling insecure?  _ Hermione suddenly felt confident and a bit playful. She took hold of the front of his robes to pull him down to her level and at the same time pulled herself up on her tiptoes. She bit her lip in an attempt to keep a straight face and whispered, “My friends will all be on the pitch playing, and I’ll be by myself, alone in the stands.”

His eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips in thought. Only the tiniest twinkle betrayed his mood. “That would be in breach of your rules of courtship.”

“I’ll have to sit with the faculty, probably between Minerva and the Headmaster.”

“Oddly enough, that’s where I plan to sit.”

“Perhaps we’ll end up sitting near each other.”

“Minx,” Lucius chuckled and leaned down the last few inches to her mouth, kissing her breathless and cross-eyed. Unlike Draco, he never flinched when they were interrupted. Instead, he finished the kiss in a slow, savoring sort of way and then pressed one more to her nose before he acknowledged the Headmaster.

“Albus.”

Hermione knew her face was bright red, but the Headmaster continued as if he hadn’t interrupted such an intimate moment.  _ I’ve kissed Draco in front of Harry and Luna. How is this any different?  _ “Good morning to you both. I hope you will excuse my absence from the table this morning. Aberforth and I were chatting by Floo, and time got away from me. And speaking of time, the match is due to start shortly. Have you made other arrangements, or shall we all walk together to the pitch?”

It was the only way Hermione would be able to get there without Harry, and so it was agreed. At the door, the Headmaster paused. “Oh, Lucius - before we leave here, perhaps you would like to give Miss Granger her gift? It arrived while you were visiting.”

There on Professor Dumbledore’s desk was a box wrapped identically to the one used to package her dress. Lucius crossed the room and retrieved it, handing it to her with a bow. As his head reached her level, he murmured, “For you, my lovely. Wear it for my next visit.”

Hermione blushed and bit back her delighted smile. “I will. Thank you, Lucius.”

He cast an elegantly executed Shrinking charm on the wrapped box, and Hermione tucked it into her purse. Only moments later, they were on their way. 

She was struck by the difference in walking with each of her wizards. She and Draco had only just begun acknowledging that they liked to touch one another, but this was already reflected in the way they walked together. Their hands brushed, he wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned into his side. Draco leaned down to talk to her in a low voice, and she responded by raising her head to catch his eye.

She wasn’t as casually comfortable with Lucius yet - at least, not away from her nook between his jaw and shoulder. Most of their interactions had taken place in the privacy of their alcove. Now, walking together for the first time outside the Headmaster’s office, there was an air of formality between them that Hermione wanted to dispel. His restraint showed in the way he tucked her arm under his so that her hand rested on his forearm, and the way he kept an appropriate distance from her side.  _ Does he feel awkward, too, or is he trying not to push me too far?  _ His pace was dignified, and Hermione wondered if he ever hurried. She finally decided that Lucius didn’t seem like the sort of man to let time get the best of him.

The Headmaster was a brisk walker, much to Hermione’s surprise, and so he remained several paces ahead of them. She’d never actually gone anywhere with him, and she was amazed at their progress through the castle. Thankfully, he didn’t attempt much conversation, other than the occasional comment thrown over his shoulder to Lucius about the weather and the upcoming game.

Streams of students and faculty were making their way to the pitch as well, and she became aware that she and her wizard were drawing attention. Witches and wizards openly gawked at Lucius, and many of them made sure to call overly familiar greetings to her.  _ They’ve never given me the time of day before now. What’s changed? _ Astoria’s words of warning flitted through her head, and she pointedly ignored the next opportunistic student to open their mouth.

The way some of the witches looked at Lucius caused a surge of possessiveness within Hermione. Her grip on his arm tightened, and she glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. He must have sensed her ire; he cast his eyes downward at her, barely moving his head, and raised his eyebrow inquisitively.

It was an eloquent, wordless conversation. Her response to his silent enquiry was a clipped nod of her head in the direction of the next admiring witch. Lucius’ mouth twitched in amusement. Hermione’s eyes flashed in warning. Her wizard ended the silence by lowering his head toward hers as they continued walking. “I presume you don’t like the attention, pet?”

“No!” She hissed self-consciously, “They’re all looking at you like you’re . . . like you’re something to be bought at Honeydukes.”

He looked down at her mischievously. “Perhaps I’m very sweet.”

His answer did nothing to cool her irritation, and the attention only grew more concentrated the closer they drew to the stands. Now the crowd walked along beside them, and more students and faculty members took the opportunity to strike up conversations with her, and by extension Lucius. Mostly they were giggling witches and admiring wizards, who quickly introduced themselves to him (she certainly didn’t bother to offer that courtesy) as ‘good friends’ of Hermione and then fled. Lucius remained imperturbably courteous throughout. At one point, he leaned to murmur, “I rarely allow myself to be distracted by the people around me. It would be wise for you to do the same.”

The teachers lingered a bit longer, under the guise of talking with Hermione about her classes. These short conversations quickly gravitated toward her wizard, who was polite but offered no encouragement. The worst was Professor Slughorn. He immediately latched on to them as they left the castle, walking much too close to Hermione as he employed an air of familiarity with Lucius.

“Lucius, old boy! Come for Draco’s last match, have you?” The professor hadn’t even glanced at her as he spoke over her head. _ It figures - before, I was only interesting to him as Harry Potter’s swotty friend. Now I fall completely in Lucius’ shadow. _ _ Not that I particularly want him to notice me. _

Lucius placed his other hand over hers on his forearm and ran his fingers over the dragon mark. She glanced up at him. He was looking straight ahead, but Hermione could see a tightness around his eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there just a moment ago. His normally elegant drawl had a clipped tone, too. “Horace. As you can  _ see _ , I am visiting with my lovely bride-to-be.”  _ He either doesn’t like the professor or the fact that he completely ignored me. _

Slughorn didn’t seem to notice Lucius’ thinly veiled irritation, and he certainly didn’t acknowledge Hermione. “How we’ll miss our young Slytherin prince! I certainly hope you plan to host one of your matchless dinner parties in honor of his graduation.”

Lucius was still stroking her arm in long trailing patterns, and now goosebumps broke out on the sensitized skin. He disregarded Slughorn and said to Hermione, “My dear, you’re cold. Where are your robes?”

He was looking at her tenderly, and his fingers were still moving along the flesh of her arm. She shivered, but not because she was chilled. “I must have left them in the Headmaster’s office.”

Their pace had slowed some due to the crowd congestion as they neared the stands, and Lucius pulled her to the side. He slid his black outer robes off and draped them around her shoulders in a proprietary way. As he leaned down to wrap the material around her, he ran one long finger down the placket of her shirt in the same suggestive motion he’d used in their alcove not long ago. 

“Lucius,” she whispered. The entire exchange since Slughorn had last spoken took all of ten seconds, but the professor was completely forgotten. Lucius’ eyes moved to her mouth, and he said in an undertone, “Your lips are begging to be kissed, but I find myself reticent to share such intimacy with our audience.”

He rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb several times and looked as if he wanted to say more, but Professor Slughorn loudly reminded them of his presence. “Of course, I would be happy to help with the guest list. We have some very promising Slytherin graduates who will benefit from the support of your family.”

Lucius winced in annoyance and pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear instead. She sighed in pleasure as his warm breath tickled through her loose hair. Her wizard stood to his full height and replied, “We will be indisposed for the summer. I’m sure you understand.”

The professor didn’t look as though he understood in the slightest. He opened his mouth to argue even as Lucius steered Hermione around him. “And Horace,” he added over his shoulder as they turned toward their tower, “In the future, I suggest you show more respect to the future Lady Malfoy.”

“Blasted waste of space and magic,” muttered Lucius as he wrapped his arm around her and drew her against his side. They climbed the stairs like this, and Hermione realized that some of her wizard’s formal manner had vanished since the professor had pestered them. It seemed that being snubbed by the head of Slytherin had a silver lining after all.

“You know, you  _ really _ shouldn’t allow yourself to be distracted by the people around you,” she couldn’t help but counter with a smirk.

When they reached the top, there was a brisk wind blowing, and Hermione was immensely grateful for her borrowed robes. Lucius guided her to the seats beside Professor McGonagall, and then arranged them so that he was between the two witches. He murmured as they sat, “Otherwise, she’ll monopolize you.”

He greeted Minerva cordially, nodded politely to the other faculty members nearby, and draped an arm over the back of Hermione’s seat. He kept up a quiet, steady conversation with her and her favorite professor while they waited for the match to begin. Every so often he gently straightened one of her curls between his fingers.

Their seats were along the railing, and Hermione leaned over it to catch sight of Draco. Both teams had finished warming up and were taking one last lap high above the stands before heading toward starting positions. As the Slytherin players approached overhead, Draco must have caught sight of her. Suddenly his broom broke into a steep nosedive toward the pitch. 

Hermione, who had never learned to relax around brooms, tried to control her panicked breathing.  _ Oh Merlin, he’s going to die. I’ve only just started kissing him, and he’s going to die right in front of me. _ Seconds later, he pulled up in front of her with a cocky grin on his face. She missed the expression at first, though, because she was too busy taking in the sight of Draco Malfoy in full Quidditch garb.  _ Circe, mother of magic . . . _

Draco was, on any given day, beautiful. Tall, well-formed, and classically featured, he stood out from his peers. His expensive robes hung and clung perfectly, and Hermione had developed a recent admiration for the way they subtly showed his physique. Now, though, her aesthetic appreciation morphed into full-fledged lust at the sight before her.

His long legs, bent as they were in balance astride his broom, stretched the fabric of his fitted white trousers across the taut muscles of his thighs. His robes had come untied during his flight, and now hung down around his elbows, and his jersey was already stuck to his chest with sweat. That left the shape of his wide shoulders and strong upper arms exposed to her quickly glazing eyes. 

And then there was this subtle shift in personality. Draco was almost always collected, always confident, but in a measured way. Even when he was blushing, his shoulders were thrown back and head held high. Now, though, his attitude matched his posture and he exuded a smug arrogance that Hermione found mesmerizing.  _ I’d totally ride his Firebolt. And oh Merlin, I mean it.  _ She blushed, a steady burn spreading from her cheeks down to her toes, and for once it had nothing to do with embarrassment. A teasing sensation of tingling and coiling began in her lower stomach. She allowed herself only a lingering, open-mouthed gape before looking up to his face. When she saw his satisfied expression, she snapped out of her trance and swallowed the drool that had collected in her mouth.

“I think you’re missing something, little witch.” Draco held something in his hand, and he held it out toward her in a playful manner. It was his scarf. He landed on the empty seats beside her and clambered down to stand at her level. Handing off his broomstick to Lucius, who clapped him on the back, Draco turned to the curly-headed witch. He brought the scarf over her head and proceeded to loop it loosely around her neck. When he was done, he slowly trailed his fingers down its long ends, barely brushing against her breasts. It was enough to send a pool of wetness to her knickers, and she fought against the urge to wrap herself around him. Instead she scowled and viciously tugged on the lacings of his Quidditch robes, tying them securely. When she looked up, he was still looking quite smug.

“Don’t fly recklessly. Don’t fly too high. Don’t fly too fast.” She emphasized each point with a finger-poke to his chest and tried not to be distracted by the way his green robes complimented his hair and eyes.

He suddenly looked at her very seriously. “I am . . . confused. Are you upset with me, or nervous, or angry?”

Hermione was instantly delighted.  _ Our first conversation, at the Slytherin party. He remembers it! _ She countered, “I am very nervous. And I don’t want to be, so I am trying to be angry. But I’m not upset with you, not really.”

The sounds of the filling stands grew fainter as a bubble formed around them. Draco’s eyes were sparkling. He leaned down so that she arched backwards to accommodate him. Her hand came up to his shoulder to steady herself, and he wrapped a hand around her back. “Miss Granger,” he whispered, “Are you keeping me from fun?”

Lucius cut in amusedly. “Just hurry up and kiss her, Draco, before your entire team comes to drag you to the pitch.”

He did, and the noise around them vanished for a few seconds again. Draco pulled away to give her one of his full-on smiles as he took his broom from Lucius. Then he treated her to one last smug smirk before he kicked off to rejoin his team. Hermione cast a surreptitious glance over at the other occupants of the tower. No one gave any indication that they’d noticed the Slytherin Seeker land in their midst in all his sweaty glory to flirt with her . . . and kiss her.  _ I’ll bet they’re being respectful because of Lucius. Students wouldn’t be nearly so discreet. _

She’d thought that too soon. No sooner had she sat than Minerva leaned across Lucius to provide her own brand of commentary, including her evaluation of Draco in his uniform. She ended by saying, “Merlin’s wand, Hermione - if you think you can still pretend not to be affected by these two men, you’re sorely mistaken. Why on earth are you blushing?”

Lucius looked immensely amused, and a red-faced Hermione realized that his earlier comment about their audience was true.  _ This is how it will be from now on - I’m going to have to learn to practice restraint. _ She was drawn from her musings by the sound of the starting whistle. The match had begun. 

With a wild flourish of maroon and green robes, the teams snapped into action. The two Seekers fought to have the first clear look from high above the pitch, and Draco directed his broomstick straight at Harry’s as he tried to knock him off course.  _ If he dies, I’m going to be furious with him. _ Resolved not to spend the rest of the match pondering his mortality, Hermione turned her focus to the wizard beside her, who had slipped his arm beneath her borrowed robes and was running his fingers up and down her side. Lucius was talking with Minerva, and it sounded as though the two were placing bets on the outcome of the game.

“Five Galleons on Gryffindor.”

“Only five, Minerva? Surely you’re more confident in the success of your team than that.” Up and down, up and down went his fingers, and Hermione fought to keep her eyes from crossing with pleasure.

“Five is more than confident on a teacher’s salary, Lucius.”

“One hundred on Slytherin.”

“Only one hundred, Lucius? Surely you’re more confident in the success of your team than that!”

They bantered back and forth while the sun rose higher, and soon the two had convinced most of the other tower occupants to join in the gambling pool. Hermione leaned her head against her wizard’s broad shoulder. He glanced at her, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile, and tugged on one of her curls again.  _ This is nice; almost as nice as sitting on his lap. _ She rubbed her face against his waistcoat, taking in his fragrance. 

“Are you warm enough, my prize?” He leaned to put his mouth close to her ear and stayed there, awaiting her answer.

“Yes, thank you.” She drew his arm around her more closely even as she said it.

“I would very much like to kiss you right now. Our next visit cannot come soon enough.”

“When will it be?” She asked quietly. Under the cover of the robe, she tangled her hand with his at her side.

He was already straightening to sit upright. “Will you visit with me tomorrow evening?”

She looked up at him from the corner of her eye, drinking in the sight of his handsome profile.  _ Mine _ . Up to this point, Lucius had summoned her to visits through messengers and notes. Now for the first time, Hermione had the power to choose whether or not to accept his invitation.  _ I could tell him I’m busy, and he would have to accept it. Except I don’t think I’ll be too busy for Lucius for a long time to come.  _ She felt confident and playful, and replied, “That depends. Will there be kissing?”

Lucius leaned down once more. “And then some.”

She turned her focus back to the match, trying desperately to ignore the desire her wizard’s words had stirred within her. Hermione shifted in her seat, trying to relieve the pleasant ache between her legs.  _ I will be needful and writhing long before Friday. I wonder what ‘and then some’ means . . .  _

Harry and Draco were still unharmed. Lucius and Minerva continued ironing out their rules for the betting with those around them, and he turned to Hermione again. “What do think, pet? Shall we place money on players or points this game?”

He looked surprised when she answered, “Betting is a waste of time and money. It’s true that some odds are based on skill, but there are often too many variables in Quidditch. The Arithmancy needed to make an accurate prediction would be terribly complicated. Besides, it’s just a game.”

“So you don’t have a preference for who wins?” Minerva looked across Lucius to Hermione with a raised eyebrow.

“I have a preference for both Seekers to remain alive and in their original shapes, and preferably with no brain damage. And I’d like Ginny to land in one piece.”

“Speaking of Weasleys, one seems to be missing. Doesn’t the youngest boy play Keeper for Gryffindor?” Lucius’ tone was civil, but both witches tensed at the question. Hermione had forgotten all about Ron in the morning’s excitement until this moment.  _ What’s going on at the Burrow, I wonder? _

Minerva merely replied, “Vicky Frobisher will do a fine job.” She added in a wry tone, “We’re just lucky there wasn’t a meeting of the Charms club this morning, otherwise I might have had to suit up.”

The three grew silent again as Slytherin earned eighty points straight in a row. This put the green team ahead by one hundred ninety points. She couldn’t drag her eyes from the match. Draco and Harry were two blurs weaving through the rest of the game, dodging players and Bludgers in a synchronized search for the Snitch. Now they were high above, circling, now diving down to the bases of the towers. She saw them push against each other as they curved around obstacles, saw the single-minded grimness on their faces as they swooped past. 

This was the part of the match she hated most. Seven years she’d watched Harry seek for the elusive Snitch, and at each match she’d watch her easy-going friend’s deadly alter ego appear. When the first whistle blew, Harry’s smile dropped from his face and all that mattered was that damned, whizzing, and gold ball. She’d seen and could recall with clarity every one of his various injuries: broken bones, dislocated joints, and concussions that didn’t faze him. As soon as he was mended, he was back on the pitch.

Now she found herself doubly cursed with nerves.  _ If they kill themselves or each other, I’ll never forgive them! _ She sat, wand drawn, prepared to protect them in any way she could.

Lucius may have found humor in her distress, but he offered comfort and distraction. He slipped his arm back under her robes and ran his fingers along her back, across her side, and around to her stomach and ribs. His thumb brushed back and forth under her right breast, eventually rubbing against its underside as he had her bottom lip earlier at breakfast. “They’ll be fine, pet.” 

She felt her face turn red and buried it in the silk of his waistcoat.  _ I can’t believe he’s doing that here, at the match. Gaaah, don’t let him stop.  _ Even as she leaned into his touch, she argued, “You don’t know that - they could kill each other - crash in a big pile of crushed bones and spurting blood!”

His expression, when she looked up, was a mix of horror and amusement. “What goes on in that head of yours? Quidditch injuries are rarely fatal, and I don’t recall there ever being such a one at Hogwarts.” He pointed downward to the side of the pitch where Madame Pomfrey stood beside her first-aid tent. “See - your Healer is at the ready.”

Minerva leaned forward to join the conversation. “Hermione, you should be more concerned that Gryffindor is losing! And rather badly, I might add. At this point, Harry might do well to end the match on his own terms. Don’t you think, Lucius?”

“You’re alluding to the ’94 World Cup? That’s certainly one option. Although I hardly think trailing by one-seventy-five is losing badly at this point. They could still catch up.” 

His thumb was still tracing the bottom curve of her small breast beneath the cover of her robes. Hermione worked through the fog he was creating in her head and replied, “That strategy you’re talking about - it’s flawed. Look - Harry and Draco are right on top of each other. Even if Draco does see the Snitch first, there’s no way he can be sure that he’ll grab it first. And if Harry pulls a Wronski Feint, I’ll kill him myself.”

Her momentary attention to something other than possible fatalities began a lively discussion of Quidditch strategy. Lucius seemed impressed with her knowledge of the game, and Hermione was slightly offended. “What, you think I’ve sat in these stands all these years and not paid attention? The summer between fourth and fifth years, I made a comprehensive study of Quidditch. The history alone was fascinating, and I  _ do _ have a prodigious memory.”

“And you’re sure you don’t care to place a bet,” Lucius coaxed. He dangled a large coin purse over her lap.

“Well,” Hermione waffled, “if it’s that important to you.” She took the heavy velvet bag and looked inside. There had to be more than fifty Galleons, as well as some Knuts and Sickles. “I’ll put twenty Galleons on Slytherin winning, and the same on Gryffindor catching the Snitch. Oh, and another twenty says that the winner will lead by 250 points.”

Lucius looked pleased that she’d joined the pool even as he teased, “Betting against Draco? Whatever will he say?”

“He’ll probably say I know what I’m doing.”

Half an hour later, the crowd roared as The Boy Who Lived rose above the match triumphantly holding up the Golden Snitch. Madame Hooch officially ended the match, and the players descended to the grassy field below. The ending score was Slytherin 450, Gryffindor 200, and Hermione had a small, satisfied smile on her lips _. _ She felt Lucius’ fingers take her by the chin, turning her face towards him. He was looking at her speculatively, eyebrow raised. “That was quite a stroke of luck, pet.”

“There was no luck involved,” she said, with a look of mock-affront.

“You told me the variables were unpredictable, and predictions too complicated.”

She replied in a smug tone, “I never said the calculations would be  _ too _ difficult, merely  _ terribly _ difficult. I ran through them this morning before I got out of bed.”

He laughed a full, rich laugh and drew her into a tight hug. “Brilliant as well as beautiful, and wealthy now to boot.”

Hermione remembered the velvet bag in her hand. “Oh! This is yours.” She broke free of Lucius’ arms and tried to hand him the purse.

Lucius closed his hand around hers and pushed it to her side. “Keep it, and add your winnings to it as well.” When she began to protest, he added, “In less than a week it will belong to both of us. Until then, consider it your own.”

She thanked him with a kiss to his cheek. Lucius was right - regardless of the pull they felt toward each other, their relationship demanded public dignity. He seemed to understand her thoughts, because he slipped his arm under her borrowed robes once more and ran his hand over the thin silky fabric of the shirt covering her back. “I’m looking forward to having you all to myself very soon, pet.”

Hermione shivered.  _ He’s going to have me. I’m going to be had. _ “Do you have to leave soon?”

“I have a meeting with the estate manager later today. I want to be sure everything is ready for your arrival.”

“Speaking of that, Molly’s making a list for you of what she wants for the reception and ceremony.”

“She is, is she? I was under the impression you didn’t want to be left out of planning,” he smirked.

“Yes, well, I’ve decided to delegate.” She snipped, and then relented, “I couldn’t care less about any of it, except . . .”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded expectantly, “Except?”

She stepped close to him again and gave in to the temptation of fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. “Except I would love to have your blue roses everywhere.”

“I would love to have your blue roses everywhere,” he repeated softly. He was looking at her so intently that Hermione wondered if he even knew he’d just echoed her words.

“Would it- I mean, is that even feasible?”

“As many as you could possibly want, my love.” He seemed to forget his self-imposed rules of décor and leaned down to kiss her mouth. It wasn’t lingering or passionate, but sweet and promise-filled.  _ I’m his love, and he’s mine. _

Bets were settled amongst the faculty and their guests, and Hermione left the tower two hundred Galleons richer. She descended the stairs with Minerva and Lucius, who walked so slowly that she could feel his reluctance to leave. At the castle entrance nearest the broom closet, the trio paused to wait for Draco, Harry, and Ginny.

The wind was just a soft breeze now at ground level, and Hermione gave Lucius back his robes. When he had put them on and fastened them, she slipped under the soft fabric and wrapped her arms around his middle. “I wish you weren’t leaving so soon.”

“It’s just as well - Draco told me of your plans to go to the village with your friends. Besides,” he spoke into her hair, “it will give you time to think about me.”

“Hmmmmmm, it will. Lucius?”

He looked down at her expectantly, and she continued, “Will you bring me a blue rose tomorrow night?”

His eyes twinkled his answer, and Hermione swooned a bit. “There’s Draco now. I need a word with him - wait here with Minerva.”

Lucius strode towards the broom closet, from which players were now emerging. He pulled Draco to him in a close hug and clapped him on the back, holding him by the shoulders as they spoke. Hermione had never seen the two interact casually, and was fascinated by the obvious closeness between them. They talked for a few minutes, congratulating some of the passing Slytherin players, and then walked to where she waited with the professor. 

Lucius thanked Minerva for accompanying them and bid her good-bye. He nodded proudly to Draco, and drew Hermione a few steps away. “Enjoy your outing.”

She really didn’t want him to go. “Will you kiss me good-bye?”

“That’s a very silly question, pet.” Lucius turned them so that his back was to their audience. He leaned down to her level, putting one hand to the back of her head and the other against her lower back, and pushed firmly until she arched into him. Hermione grabbed fistfuls of his robes to support herself as he murmured against her lips, “Of course I’m going to kiss you.”

Lucius kissed her the way he had taught her earlier and she responded with delight, opening her mouth to his the moment he stroked his tongue against her lip. He was done far more quickly than she would have liked. For one brief moment, he pulled her flush against him and Hermione felt that same long, hard bulge against her abdomen. Instead of freezing this time, though, she looked up at him.  _ Great Merlin, he’s huge. _ She bit her lip uncertainly, but held his gaze.  _ Being with me has caused this, and he wants me to know it without being terrified. _ _ I’m definitely going to think about this later. A lot _ . Lucius’ eyes were dark as he released her and straightened to his full height. “Until tomorrow.”

He led her back to Draco, gave Minerva a shallow bow, and left. Hermione watched his retreating form until it disappeared in the shadows of the castle entrance.  _ Who’d have thought that I’d learn to miss him so quickly? _ She shook off the brief moment of melancholy and turned to the others.

A group of freshly showered Gryffindors had gathered around Minerva in the meantime, and Harry and Ginny were with them. The Slytherin team stood to the side, nearest Draco and they acknowledged her with nods and smiles. It looked as though every player had decided to change into a clean uniform, sans gloves and greaves, and Hermione realized that included Draco.  _ Mother of all magic, I can stare at him in those trousers and jersey all afternoon. _ Everyone was discussing the trip to Hogsmeade, and arguing about how to get there.

“Let’s walk - it’s such a beautiful day,” suggested the Slytherin reserve Chaser.

“And waste all that time?” countered Ginny, “I say we fly. We can be there in ten minutes, and that’s flying slowly. Besides, anyone going from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams would have left right after the match - they’ll beat us to the village by a long shot if we don’t hurry.”

Nearly everyone agreed.  _ I don’t want to fly!  _ Hermione had an uneasy feeling she was being included in her friends’ plans, and turned to Draco in a slight panic. He stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, so she ended up in his arms. He bent down to whisper in her ear, “I want you to ride my Firebolt.” 

He blushed but held her gaze, and Hermione fought through the threat of awkwardness by channeling Lucius. She gave a little snort of laughter and replied, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Draco.”

His eyes danced with humor as he tried again. “I want you to fly with me to the village. Harry told me you’d resist, but I’ll keep you safe.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“It’ll be fun.”

“Not necessarily, bec-”

He interrupted in a coaxing voice, “Hermione, you’ll be sitting on my lap, and I’ll have my arms wrapped around you the entire time. You can hide your face in my robes, if you like.”

_ That sounds like the way to fly . . . _ Draco seemed to think so, too, because he immediately leaned in to steal a kiss. 

“Errrrrr, only if you promise to be safe.”

Draco smiled almost angelically as he said, “So, you’ll ride my Firebolt if I promise to take precautions?”

She laughed again.  _ Does he even know when he says things like that? _ “Absolutely. But I  _ will _ keep my eyes closed.”

“That doesn’t exactly flatter my ego.” He slipped off his Quidditch robes and held them out for her to put on. Hermione put her hands through the sleeves and raised her arms to tie her hair back. She watched him tie them up in the front, feeling how his hands lingered on the laces where they fell across her breasts.  _ He certainly likes having his hands right there _ .  _ I’m going to ride his Firebolt.  _ She felt a frisson of desire run through her, and looked over his shoulder.

“Your eg- Draco, why is Pansy Parkinson looking at me like I killed her familiar?”

Hermione had just caught sight of the brunette Slytherin, who stood a small distance away and had a hateful look on her face.

She felt her wizard’s body tense. He rolled his eyes and said quietly, “Stay away from her. We’ll talk about it later,” he ducked to look Hermione directly in the eye, “understand?”

“Not really.”

“I mean it, Hermione.” Draco was looking at her sternly. “Stay away from Pansy Parkinson.”


	26. Sunday Afternoon

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Saturday Afternoon

Hermione decided that her fear of flying must have had to do with her previous broom partners, namely Ron the Idiot and Harry the Reckless. Today, wrapped in Draco’s arms and snuggled into the nook of his neck, she felt quite invincible and even kept her eyes open during their trip. 

Draco had sat her sideways on the broom so that her legs hooked over his right one, and he flew with his left arm curved around her middle. This left his right hand to hold the broomstick, and he leaned forward into her as he steered. He’d maintained a slow speed and the other flyers had passed them up quickly, except for Harry and Ginny, who looped back every so often.

Draco kept up a steady commentary in her ear, telling her of places he’d take her by broom on the estate. She was distracted from complete comprehension by the timbre of his voice and the feel of its vibrations traveling from his chest into her own body. _Sweet Circe, why does that sound do such incredible things to my body? I really need to start carrying a spare pair of knickers._ She pressed her lips to the smooth skin of his neck in a series of kisses. The wind was whipping a few of her loose curls into their faces, and Hermione unwound her hand from around Draco’s side to hold them back. Realizing it was a hopeless task, she dropped her now free hand and for the rest of the ride traced the jersey-clad muscles of his chest. _Is all this from Quidditch? And it’s all mine . . ._ Her hand ran down his stomach, absently following a southward path of corded muscle as she continued to kiss his neck and jaw. Draco pulled her against him tightly for a moment and then said hoarsely, “Hermione - you can’t do things like that to me. Not yet.”

He released his grip of her long enough to take her hand from its proximity near the waistband of his trousers and bring it to his mouth for a kiss. Then he wrapped it around his shoulder, saying in her ear, “It stays here for the rest of the ride.”

Hermione realized her touches had probably aroused him, and knew it was true when she felt his erection wedged against her thigh. _Oops._ Determined to avoid the awkwardness that always seemed to plague them, she kissed his jaw lightly one more time. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” he rasped. They were just coming up on Hogsmeade, and Draco landed them a short distance from the tree line. Harry’s Firebolt was propped against a tree, but he and Ginny were nowhere in sight. _Great. Probably desecrating some poor tree or rock formation._ When she started to climb off, Draco stopped her with his hands on her hips and continued, “but you teasing me with those little hands of yours is going to make following the rules a whole lot harder. And we _will_ be following the rules.”

_Draco just called me a tease. And the way his hands are squeezing my arse tells me that no matter what he says, he liked it._ She felt another burst of confidence and said slyly, “How would you like to be teased, then?”

Draco’s mouth dropped open, and Hermione took advantage of his momentary haze to escape from his grip. She scampered away from the broom, laughing. When he finally recovered, he dismounted, stood, and turned slightly from her. He made an imperious beckoning gesture over his shoulder. “My robes, if you please.”

_Oh, yes - he’s going to need those for a bit._ She slowly untied the Quidditch robes and slipped them off. “All right, but I want them back later.”

“Whatever for?” Draco had sunk to the ground with his returned robes across his lap.

“I want to sleep in them. They’re incredibly soft, and they smell like you. What?” she asked when he groaned, scrunched his face up, and shook his head several times. 

“Not helping, Hermione.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, enjoying the power she felt at his loss of control but not completely comprehending it. “Fine. How about your jersey, then?”

“My jersey. On you. In your bed.” Draco’s eyes were slightly glazed again, and suddenly Hermione felt very, very badly for behaving in such a poor manner. _I’ve driven him into a state, and if he thinks about something he doesn’t want to say aloud, Rule Number One will zap him. What kind of fiancée am I?_

“Oh, Draco! I’m so sorry for teasing you. Can I . . . errrr, is there . . . what I mean is, what can I do to help?”

Draco scrubbed his hand over his face a few times. He looked at her sternly and said, “Hermione, this is not a request. For the next ten minutes, you are going to sit beside me and talk about Arithmancy. You are not to look at me, touch me, or use that sexy tone of voice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Draco.” She looked at him with tenderness in her heart, which quickly morphed back to desire as she noticed the way he sat with his arms draped over bent knees and head hanging down. _That wizard is all mine, and I want to-_

“Hermione? Arithmancy?”

“Oops. Ummm, Arithmancy is a very precise, very measurable, and almost scientific method of predicting the future . . . “

She talked away with great determination, and eventually Draco relaxed and lay back in the grass. His eyes closed, and at some point he reached out to hold her hand in his. They were joined by Harry and Ginny just as Hermione was waxing philosophical about the moral implications of Arithmancy. Harry, for once, looked quite put together for having been with one of his loves. Ginny, on the other hand, didn’t. Her shirt was buttoned up crookedly, her skirt was a mess, and her beautiful red hair was a snarled riot. She wore only one shoe and was carrying the other, but on her face was a look of absolute contentment.

Hermione took one look at her and forgot Arithmancy immediately. “Ginevra Molly Weasley, you come with me right now! _You_ ,” here she gestured at Harry angrily, “will stay here! We’ll be less than fifteen meters away. Honestly,” she continued as the two girls walked towards the near tree line, “You’re like rabbits on love potion!”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Hermione asked, “You look remarkably blissful. Is this something I should know about?”

Ginny sighed and smiled absently at the curly-headed witch as they entered the privacy of the trees. Hermione set her to rights with a few well-aimed swishes of her wand and they leaned against a large fallen trunk. Ginny had that look she and Luna usually wore after they’d been with Harry. Her face was flushed, lips swollen, and her eyes were very bright. She looked at her friend. “You’ll get to it eventually.”

“Tell me.” _There’s no one else to ask, besides Molly and Minerva. And I’d rather go to my bridal bed ignorant than ask them anything about sex. Ever._

“How about you tell me why you’re lecturing your fiancé on Arithmancy in the middle of a field?” The redhead looked as though she already knew.

“I didn’t realize that the stomach was such an erogenous zone, and may have stirred Draco up a bit on the broom ride.”

Ginny smirked knowingly, and Hermione continued, “Then I told him I wanted to sleep in his jersey, just to tease him, but that seemed like the wrong thing to say.”

“He told you to start talking numbers instead?”

“Mmmhmmm. Was that terrible of me, Gin?”

Her friend laughed softly. “That depends on whether or not you’re trying to slowly torture Draco to death. You do realize that image is a big turn on for him?”

“Sleeping in his shirt?” She wasn’t sure how that would . . .

“Hellooooo, ‘Mione - think about it. You, with nothing else on but Draco’s jersey, tucked in your dorm room bed. Your skin being touched all over by fabric that was just worn by his own body.”

Hermione’s entire body pulsed with desire at the picture painted in her mind. She blushed to the roots of her hair but smiled a little in realization as Ginny continued, “And Draco’s now in torment, knowing that something of his will soon be in your bed. That’s neither wrong nor terrible - it’s genius. Except that you obviously had no idea exactly what you were doing to him, and so he needed to think about something else _quickly_.”

“Thanks, Ginny. You’re much better at explaining guy stuff than Harry.”

Her friend cocked an eyebrow in disdain. “I grew up in a house with seven men. There’s nothing I haven’t seen or heard accidentally, and unfortunately nothing I’ve forgotten. Plus I had Charlie - he’s the one who answered all _my_ questions.”

_I turned on Draco with my hands, and then with just words._ She tucked that idea aside for future analysis. _Ginny’s a great friend_. That thought encouraged her to offer, “I kissed Lucius this morning."

The redhead squealed, bolting upright and leaning forward in interest. “Tell me everything,” she ordered.

Hermione grinned. For the next ten minutes, she regurgitated every gesture, word, sensation, and thought that had occurred during the breakfast visit and match. Her vivid descriptions elicited several more squeals from Ginny before she was through. Finally, she suggested that they head back to the wizards waiting in the field, adding, “Now you owe me. I want to know what you and Harry were doing that made you look so . . . blissfully happy. And I want to know soon.”

Ginny nodded. “Fair enough. For now, let’s just say that tandem broom rides always stir me up.”

“I think I might know what you mean.” The two headed back towards their wizards, who were dozing in the sun. Not long after, the four of them walked into the Three Broomsticks after parking the brooms outside.

Madam Rosemerta had obviously been given warning of the impending crowd, because she had brought in extra help. Several waitresses bustled about with trays of sloshing butterbeer tankards, and there was an extra hand at the bar as well. The pub was full of brightly uniformed Quidditch players, as well as other students. Tables had been pushed together to make room for larger groups, and there didn’t seem to be any segregation by teams. 

Far across the room, Luna waved cheerfully to them from a long table partly filled with some Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. They made their way between students, pausing here and there to exchange pleasantries. Once again, Draco’s fellow Slytherins nodded politely to her, and several used her name in a familiar way. It was as if Draco had talked about her so much that they felt as though they knew her.

She noticed that Vincent Crabbe and Greg Goyle each had short, quiet, earnest conversations with Draco several times, that Goyle had a similar one with Harry, and that Pansy Parkinson seemed to be everywhere at once. She alternated between gazing at Draco intently and then looking Hermione up and down with disdain. Hermione thought about her wizard’s earlier words.

When they finally sat, Hermione realized that many of the Slytherins had followed them to Luna’s table - more than there were chairs for, in fact. Another table was drawn up, and more chairs scrounged, but in the end, there were students leaned against the wall and propped on the backs of occupied chairs. She was surprised by the friendly atmosphere between the teams that had just played so competitively against each other, and said as much to her ‘brother’.

Harry shrugged. “It’s true - during matches we’d gladly kill each other to win, but afterward we’re all just fans of the same sport. Isn’t that right, Malfoy?”

“Rivalry is exhausting, and the war’s over. I’ll take this company at the end of any day,” agreed Draco. He sat beside her, his arm around her waist.

Greg Goyle leaned over Harry’s shoulder and added with a wink to Hermione, “Besides, we won. We can afford to be friendly to you mangy lions.”

The table erupted in laughter, which only quieted when a waitress came to take orders. Harry sat with his girls across from Hermione and Draco. He grinned boyishly around the table, light reflecting off his glasses, and said, “Well, shall we start with the toasts, or the roasts?”

The next hour was spent immersed in memories. Toasts were given in honor of players who either hadn’t returned to finish their final year, or hadn’t survived the war at all. Others were raised to entire teams who had set records or played with distinction. Finally, there were the roasts. Draco and Harry teased each other mercilessly, and Hermione’s sides ached from laughing so hard. When they had finished their jibes, Harry stood and raised his glass one last time to Draco. “To the Prince of Slytherin, who won the final game but lost the Snitch. You’ve been a worthy opponent.”

Draco’s response was to lean back in his chair, glass raised, smirking in the way only he could. “To the Boy Who Lived, who saved the wizarding world, who caught the Snitch, only to _lose_ to this worthy opponent. You’ve been my favorite adversary as well. And incidentally, Potter,” he added, “I caught my Snitch a week ago Thursday.”

Draco’s arm tightened around Hermione’s waist, drawing her against his side as the occupants of their table broke out in table-pounding and some loud cheering. She blushed to the roots of her hair and turned to hide her face against his shoulder.

“That was a bit cheesy, don’t you think?” Hermione asked quietly.

His reply was brimming with smug confidence. “Not if _I_ say it. I’m going to hunt down the waitress, since she seems to have disappeared. Be back in a bit.”

Hermione felt his absence at once. Shortly after that she felt the complaint of her full bladder, and caught Ginny’s eye, mouthing, ‘ _loo_.’ Ginny nodded and walked around the table, hooking her arm through that of the curly-headed witch. She said loudly, “Come on, ‘Mione. Let’s go powder our noses, or whatever it is that witches who don’t have six brothers say when they have to pee.”

The wizards at the table laughed in appreciation, and Harry said, “I’ll walk with you.” She noticed that he seemed to be looking for something or someone on the short trek to the loo, and, for a moment, appeared to be considering going into the girls’ room with them.

On their way back, Hermione caught a glimpse of pale blonde hair and paused by the bar. Draco seemed to be standing alone in the crowd, lost in thought, but as she approached she saw Pansy standing before him. The tall brunette had one hand on Draco’s robes against his chest and the other reaching toward his face, and she was leaning into him as she talked. 

Hermione froze, watching the scene before her. _Why is Draco allowing Pansy to touch him like that?_ For a moment, she let herself give in to a fierce and angry possessiveness. Thankfully, she looked at Draco’s face again, and realized he wasn’t lost in thought at all, but trying to remain calm. In fact, he looked very, very upset. In a move that reminded her of his avoidance of Ron in the dungeon hallway, he stepped back abruptly, firmly snapping his robes out of the witch’s hand. Hermione crept closer, trying to catch their conversation through the noise of the crowd.

Draco was speaking. “Please stop. That’s inappropriate, and you know it.”

She gave a small, confident smile and arched an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with inappropriate, Draco?”

Hermione noticed Greg Goyle on the far side of her wizard and the brunette witch, and he seemed to be watching them with grim concentration. Vincent Crabbe must have drifted over from their table as well; he now stood besides her, holding a hand up as if warning her not to move. Her eyes went back to Draco, and noticed how tightly the muscles of his face were set in that mask of calm. 

“I think you should go.” His tone was frigid, and even though the remark wasn’t directed at Hermione, she flinched.

Pansy countered, “I don’t have to go anywhere, Draco. These are my friends, too. Isn’t that right, Greg?” She looked up at the huge Slytherin. Hermione noticed the brunette’s confidence falter when she saw the forbidding expression on Goyle’s face. He didn’t answer.

Vincent Crabbe spoke up, making his presence known. His deep voice sounded pleasant enough as he said, “Come on, Pans. Let’s you and I go find Vaisey and congratulate him on the game. I think he’s back at our table.”

The giant Beater hooked his arm through Pansy’s and dragged her with him, physically removing her from the scene, but she kept her hateful gaze on Hermione until the crowd separated them.

“Guess I’ll be back on bedbug duty after this.” Greg Goyle’s voice growled from where he was standing beside her, causing her to jump. 

“I’m sorry - what?”

“Oh,” he said, as if realizing he had an audience for the first time, “nothing for you to worry about.” 

Then he was gone, and Draco was walking towards her with a scowl on his face. He leaned down and pulled her against him with that same angry roughness that had been present after the chaperone fiasco with Ron, burying his face in her hair. She stroked the back of his neck gently until he seemed to calm. When Draco pulled away, he said, “Did you see that?”

“I saw something. Why was she touching you like that?”

“We’ll talk when we get back to school. Ready to go soon?”

Hermione looked around. Other than Draco and her friends, there was no compelling reason to stay. “Whenever you are. Draco, Goyle said something about being back on bedbug duty. What did he mean?”

Her wizard’s face darkened so much that for a second, Hermione thought his sudden anger was directed at her. “He’ll be my roommate again until school’s done. Let’s find Potter and his girls.”

With a brief, private word to Goyle and then Harry, Draco led their group from the Three Broomsticks. They took off immediately, flying much faster than they had on before. Draco remained silent, but his arms felt comforting, and he rubbed his fingers along her ribcage gently. Not ten minutes later, both brooms landed as if by prearrangement near the lake. 

Hermione found herself being dragged away from the other two in the direction of the same outcropping of rock they’d picnicked behind a few days earlier. Draco sank to the ground and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. She drew him down for a kiss and then asked, “So, is Greg the bedbug, or are you?”

No response. She tried again. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Draco?”

He seemed to be arguing with himself internally, and finally began, “Pansy Parkinson is the biggest bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“She does have a certain reputation.”

“Lucius thinks that she came to school with expectations of being the Malfoy wife. Her actions for the past eight years certainly support the theory.” Draco paused to sigh heavily, and continued, “She has done everything possible to ingratiate herself to Lucius and my friends, and permanently tie herself to me - and this started long before she had an inkling that we’d found our Bespoken one.”

“What kinds of things?”

Draco looked at her hesitantly. “Trying to slip various love potions into my drinks. Setting up compromising situations and attempting to be caught in them with me. Dropping hints to my friends about our alleged activities, and,” here he winced, “breaking into my room and waiting for me in my bed, undressed.”

_Pansy’s the bedbug. Greg Goyle became his roommate to keep her away._ His last words broke through her mini-revelation just then, and her vision became tinted with red. She may have shrieked a bit. “You saw Pansy naked?!”

“Actually, no. I realized the Colloportus I’d put on my room had been broken, and suspected Pansy. Greg and Vincent volunteered to go in first – they were the ones who actually saw her.”

“I hope you burned the sheets!”

Draco finally gave one of his beautiful almost-smiles. “Actually, that night I moved into Greg’s room, and stayed there for the better part of the last two years; my housemates have been running interference far longer than that.”

His expression sobered, and he continued, “Hermione, she is the culmination of the very worst of Slytherin traits. That little scene you witnessed in the pub - that was most likely created for your viewing pleasure. I think she finally accepts the fact that there’s no chance for her with me, and so she’s going to turn her attention to you. I want you to stay far away from her. If she suspects any insecurity or vulnerability on your part, she’ll take great delight in destroying what we’re working to build.”

“Try to make me doubt you, and drive a wedge between us?”

“If for no other reason than to make me miserable.”

“She really is a bitch, and a stupid one at that, if she thinks I’m going to let that happen.” She stroked the muscles of his chest lightly, remembering at the last minute to keep her fingers from straying to his stomach, and tipped her head up in an invitation to a kiss, adding, “Now come here and let me show you what Lucius taught me this morning.”

Draco leaned his head down to hers eagerly, and Pansy Parkinson was forgotten the moment Hermione swiped her tongue against his bottom lip.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	27. Saturday Evening

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Saturday Evening

She’d reached her limit of patience and fidgeted in her chair, earning her a swat from Ginny. “’Mione, sit still or I’m going to drive one of these hairpins into you on purpose!”

The two witches were in Hermione’s room getting ready for the Ravenclaw party, and they’d been at it since their return to the castle a few hours ago. At first, Hermione had been perfectly content to follow Ginny’s bossy orders, especially when it involved borrowing the prefects’ bath to enjoy a long soak in a fragrant, bubble-filled tub. Now, though, her friend’s constant nattering had finally broken through her daydreams and she was ready to be done. She struggled to find her focus again, and concentrated on her last moments with Draco that afternoon . . .

_ The time they’d had by lake was short, and despite the fact that they’d see each other in a few hours, Draco had pulled her into his arms for one more embrace. He’d lifted her onto the bottom step of the tower staircase, somewhat evening their height difference, and kissed her until she was dizzy. His hands, which had started at her waist, slid down over her slender hips and probably would have continued around to her bum had one not encountered her small purse and its bulging contents. He’d drawn back from her lips enough to murmur, “Still packing like a fugitive?” _

_ “Mmm-mmm. It’s just the present Lucius gave me this morning.” She’d leaned back toward his mouth, but suddenly Draco seemed more interested in the package.  _

_ “Let me see it.” _

_ “Why? It looks exactly like the one you gave me on Thursday.” _

_ “I was hoping so. Wear it tonight,” he whispered in her ear as his hands went back to her hips and pulled her closer to him.  _

_Hermione had been physically aching with desire intermittently since Lucius’ lesson in kissing early that morning. Now she was resisting the urge to pull herself flush to Draco_ _and roll her hips against his. She thought to herself, ‘I need release. This is what Ginny meant by being needy.’ She fought against the haze that threatened to take over her brain. “I told Lucius I’d wear it for tomorrow’s visit. You’ll see it then, Draco.”_

_ He was pulling away from her, letting his hands slide from her body. “I won’t be there; we’ve agreed he’s getting shorted on time with you. Wear it for me tonight, instead.” _

_ “I will. Meet us here at eight o’clock?” _

_ His answer was a trademark smirk. ‘I’m going to wipe that right off his face,’ she thought suddenly, remembering her talk with Ginny outside of Hogsmeade. Out loud, she said, “Oh, and I believe we agreed that you’d give me your jersey.” _

_ His reaction was satisfying. Knowing she’d got the last word, Hermione held out her arm in the same imperious gesture he’d used in the field outside Hogsmeade. Draco quickly wrestled out of the piece of uniform in question and pulled it over his head. She gave a smirk of her own, slowly untying his robes and letting them slip from her shoulders to pool at her feet. She took the proffered shirt and slid it on over her clothes, noting with satisfaction that its hem fell over that of her skirt, effectively hiding it. _

_ “Thank you. See you at eight,” she’d said, and motioned for Harry and Ginny to follow her up the stairs. When she finally dared to cast a glance over her shoulder, a few dozen steps up, her wizard was still standing where she’d left him, eyes locked on her legs. _

Ginny pushed the last hairpin into place and looked at her friend in an appraising way, saying, “You’ll do.”

Hermione looked in the mirror and grinned with delight. The second gift-dress had turned out to be the complete opposite of the first. It was a strapless white dress with a frothy, above-the-knee skirt and (for her), a rather daring décolletage. It was a cunning combination of innocence and sex, and her first thought had been that it didn’t fit within the parameters of her rules. Ginny had rolled her eyes, ordered her to get dressed, and then proceeded to torture her mercilessly by pinning up her hair. 

Now, in front of the mirror, her second thought was that she wanted to sit in Lucius’ lap in this dress. She remembered the way he’d traced the shoulder strap of the grey dress, and her mind’s eye saw him running his finger along the dipping front of this one, tickling the exposed skin of the inner sides of her breasts as he did so. She gave an involuntary shiver, and Ginny noticed. “Enough fantasizing about your wizards - what, you didn’t think I knew what you were doing all this time? Clear your head and put on your shoes. It’s time to meet Harry downstairs. And lengthen the chain on your necklace another inch - tonight you’ve actually got cleavage to decorate.”

Harry was ready and waiting, and they also found Draco waiting when the trio arrived at the base of the tower. She physically felt his gaze as it trailed over her body, and flushed with the knowledge that he liked what he saw. Hermione smiled self-consciously as he walked toward her. Her heart began racing.

“Hello, little witch. Care to walk across this dark castle with me?” He was looming over her in that way of his that forced her to arch her back and neck to see his face. His eyes were on the dragon charm that lay in the exposed valley between her breasts, and he was smirking smugly. She’d noticed that since this morning Draco seemed incredibly confident in their interactions, and attributed it to the success of the Quidditch match. It was very sexy.

_ I guess he likes where his namesake is resting tonight. _ “Only if I can bring along my chaperone and his scary girlfriend. Surely you understand.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and twinkled at her. “Absolutely. I’m sure I can find a way to get you all to myself at some point.”

_ That would be just fine with me _ . The aching want that had plagued her intermittently all day flared up again, and her eyes traveled slowly over her wizard, admiring the way he filled out his clothes. Draco usually favored dark-colored clothing, and wore black or dark grey trousers and jackets under his even blacker robes. Tonight he had forgone a jacket, wearing only a white button-down shirt opened at the collar and rolled up over his forearms. He had an emerald green tie knotted loosely around his neck and black robes draped over his arm. Overall, he was a study in decadent luxury and Hermione wanted nothing more than to go traipsing through any dark place alone with him.

Meanwhile, Ginny had grown impatient. “Alright, you two! Enough flirting. We have a party to attend!” 

They set off at once, and twenty minutes later arrived outside the propped-open portrait door to the Ravenclaw tower. They were admitted by a sixth year and stood just inside the door to get their bearings. The normally sedate room had been darkened to allow the magical ceiling, which was similar to the one in the great hall, to provide most of the light with a constant show of meteor showers, comets, and northern lights. The effect was reminiscent of a Muggle nightclub, Hermione thought. Loud music was pulsed over a large dance floor in the center of the room, but had been magically restrained so that conversation was possible along the table-lined outer walls of the tower.

Luna saw them then, and ran to jump into Harry’s arms and whisper in his ear. He looked at her in a dazed manner, nodded, and hightailed it further into the commons without looking back.

“What was that all about?” Hermione asked Ginny. 

Luna overheard and turned, smiling in her absent way. Ginny shook her head firmly, but the blonde witch seemed not to notice. “Oh! We’re giving Harry a special treat tonight, seeing as he just got his formal acceptance letter for the internship at the DMLE.”

Luna certainly looked excited, and Draco said in a friendly tone, “That’s terrific news for you all, I’m sure. What’s the surprise, Luna?”

It looked like Ginny was trying to hide her face behind her hand as she pretended to pay attention to something else as Luna happily answered, “We’re going to let Harry watch Ginny and me eat each other! It’s one of his favorite fantasies.” 

There was no stock reply to use for such a statement, but Hermione did her best. “Well, errrr don’t forget to brush your teeth afterward, the both of you . . . gotta go.”

She fled, dragging a speechless Draco toward the food and drink tables and rounded on him when they got there. “Please tell me that isn’t a common male fantasy, Draco, because it’s never going to happen for you.”

He answered without hesitation, “First of all, I won’t share, nor will Lucius. Secondly,” here he leaned down and murmured in her ear, “that practice seems like a waste of valuable resources.”

_ Did he just say . . .  _ She flushed vermillion and shook her head to clear the sudden mental image of Draco’s head between her legs. “Alcohol. I need at least one drink, probably two, and a quiet corner in which to hide until my face is no longer dark red.”

Draco had the grace to say, “No one can tell that you’re blushing in his light, if that helps, and I apologize if that made you uncomfortable.”

“No you shouldn’t, and it didn’t. You should be able to say whatever you want to me. I just have a bad habit of visualizing every double entendre you make. Do you even realize when you do it?” _ He didn’t apologize for actually saying it - he DID mean it! What a Slytherin snake! _

His smirk was answer enough, especially when he added in an undertone, “Have I told you that you look positively edible tonight?”

Even as she blushed still darker, Hermione snorted with laughter.  _ MY Slytherin snake. I like confident Draco. But I’ll bet he’s blushing, too. _ “There’s been a shift in your confidence today. Does Quidditch always make you so cocky, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Absolutely. Of course, there’s a good chance my date tonight has something to do with it as well.” 

__ She wrapped his willing arm around her and grabbed hold of his tie, hiding her burning, smiling face in his robes. Their peers had taken notice of their arrival and there was a lot of whispering and staring going on. A seventh year Hufflepuff wizard, with whom Hermione had several advanced classes, looked as though he was about to approach her, but one glance at Draco seemed to change his mind. 

Several of Draco’s Slytherin friends nodded as they passed, and Vincent Crabbe winked roguishly at her after exchanging pleasantries with her wizard. She grinned back, struck by his friendliness toward her.  _ I think he’s thought of me as Draco’s witch for a long time. _ She liked him even more when she heard that he and Greg Goyle were splitting the evening’s job of keeping Pansy Parkinson busy and away from Ravenclaw tower. Crabbe finished by saying, “I’m here ‘til ten if you need anything, Draco. I’ll be around.”

They had reached the tables laden with refreshments. Draco used his free hand to pick up two butterbeers - Ravenclaw wasn’t nearly as generous with the alcohol - and then steered them towards one of the tables pushed against the far wall.

Hermione took the opportunity presented by Crabbe’s leaving to ask, “Draco, why do Vince and Greg treat you the way they do?”

He looked at her as if the answer were obvious, and when she continued to look at him questioningly, said, “Their families have been allies of ours for generations. We employ them for purposes of protection. They’re . . . they’re like bodyguards,” he winced and added, “among other things.”

She chose to ignore that last part, focusing instead on the idea of the two students working for her fiancé. “So they spend their free time watching over you.”

“You as well.”

The interactions between the three wizards puzzled her. By their conversations and mannerisms, she would have assumed they were very close friends. And they were still students. How did it work? So many questions . . . “But are they your friends, or employees?”

Draco looked confused. “Of course they’re not employees yet. They’re still students. Still, the roles of our families are deeply ingrained. And when they do begin to accept payment for their services, why can’t they be both? Greg and Vince have pledged their lives to the Malfoys, in the tradition of their respective families, and after you and Lucius, they’re the most important people in the world to me. Who better to have as friends?”

“You forget that this part of your world is still new to me,” she smiled at him, shaking her head “I like it, though. I’m glad someone protects my wizards.”

Reaching an open table, Draco sank into a chair and held out his arms to her. Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she acquiesced and sat across his legs. She felt him sigh into her hair as he drew her close. She leaned against his shoulder for a moment, watching the activity in the crowded room, noticing her ‘brother’ and his girls were nowhere in sight.  _ Thank Merlin _ . 

Draco was rubbing a small, soft circle over the point of her pelvic bone. “This is quite a different seating arrangement from our last party together.”

She turned to him and smiled, remembering how he’d repeated their first conversation from the Slytherin party at the match earlier in the day.  _ My sweet snake.  _ She kissed his cheek tenderly, replying, “I much prefer this one.”

“You really do look lovely tonight. It’s a good thing everyone knows you belong to me.” Draco moved his hand to play with her necklace at the back of her neck, raising it off her skin, and worked the chain through his fingers until he eventually held the dragon charm in his grasp.

Being his possession didn’t sound like a bad thing at all when he said it, but she responded firmly, “I hope you know that I own you, too.”

“You have since fourth year, witch,” he countered against the corner of her mouth. For a moment, Hermione was tempted to kiss him, but she was distracted again by the goings on around her. 

A thought occurred to her a while later, and she said “You do realize that I’m not always so compliant, Draco - this last week I’ve been struggling to keep up with all . . . this. Sooner or later you’re going to be introduced to the bossy, opinionated side of me.”

“I expect nothing less. Remember, I’ve been aware of you far longer than you’ve been of me. I’ve seen what a pain you can be.” The kiss he stole softened his words, and the young witch smiled against his lips. 

“Perhaps we can learn to take turns being in charge.” Hermione turned her attention back to the movement around her. Her wizard was far more interested in toying with her dragon charm and murmuring in her ear than what was going on around him, and his fingers may have accidentally brushed against the lush flesh exposed by her deep neckline when she clutched his hand. He looked up with a guilty look that morphed to concern as he saw her expression. “What’s wrong, Hermione?”

She barely nodded her head towards a point across the room, and he turned slightly. There, walking towards their table, was Ron Weasley. 

He looked remarkably normal for having been through the family meeting she’d envisioned. At the very least, Hermione had expected him to look upset or downhearted, and she certainly thought he’d be sporting the evidence of some hex, or maybe even a black eye. Instead, he looked as he did every other day - pale, rumpled, and slightly stupid.  _ What could I have possibly been thinking for all those years? He’s no catch at all! _ She noticed the wide berth everyone gave him and the looks he was receiving. It was the first time she’d seen him at such an event alone.

Ron also looked irritated. He was making his way straight toward them through the crowd, eyes fixed on her. She felt Draco’s arm clamp her more closely to his torso as he continued to slide the dragon charm slowly back and forth on its chain near her chest. The two watched as the redhead approached their table, pulled up a chair facing them, and sat down.

“Right. So, the thing is, I need to talk to ‘Mione. Alone. Scram, Malfoy.” His tone matched his abrupt movements. He ran his eyes up and down her in a way that made her skin crawl, looked expectantly at Draco, and reached across the small table towards Hermione’s hand. “Now.”

Quickly she moved her hand away.  _ If he looks at me that way again I’m going to hex his bits right off.  _ Suddenly she felt a swooping sensation in her head, as if she were on a large ship altering its course at sea. She blinked several times.  _ The whole room just tipped to the left. This has to do with him being here. _ Draco didn’t say anything, but his hand had dropped the charm to run slowly over the bare skin of her shoulder and upper back.  _ Oh, for Merlin’s sake - he all but lifted his leg and peed on me. _

She took advantage of her wizard’s silence. “Go away, Mr. Weasley. I have nothing to say to you.”

Ron looked shocked. “Hermione! You have  _ no idea _ what I’ve just been through, and it’s all your fault! Are you leaving or not, Ferret?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawled, sounding eerily like Lucius.

“Don’t- Who do you think you are, anyway? ‘Mione and me, we’ve been together for years. You show up last week out of the blue and suddenly, what - you think you own her?”

Draco’s bored tone was belied by the tense grip he still had on her. “You were together? Hermione, were you aware of that? No? And in answer to your question, yes - I do own her. Isn’t that right, little witch?”

Hermione couldn’t control the loud, almost hysterical giggle that came bursting out. There was that buzzing, pins-and-needles feeling in her brain, and she felt distinctly . . . funny. She closed her eyes for a moment. “You do. I’m all yours and Lucius’s, and no one else’s.”

She felt his hand leave her shoulder and opened her eyes to see it hovering over his wand pocket at his side. Ron snapped, “That’s the thing. You’re supposed to be a Weasley Wife -  _ mine _ . You accepted the wrong stake, and now I’m to be turned away from my family. You need to make this right!”

Hermione pressed a hand to her eyes and swayed slightly, thankful for Draco’s arm around her. “Leave. I don’t have to do anything. Don’t you have some,” she tried to look at him, but her head tipped into Draco’s cheek drunkenly, ”girl to chase?”  _ Where’s Lisa Turpin when you need her? _

Draco took her by the chin and turned her head toward him. “Are you alright?”

Talking was definitely an underrated skill - she was having trouble making her tongue form the right sounds, and the result was a distinct slurred effect. “Lucius was right. I don’t think our covenant likes him this close to me.” She tried turning toward Ron again. “I really don’t like you, Ron Weasley.”

Ron was louder now, his voice cutting through the fuzziness in her brain. “Are you  _ drunk? _ I’m to be disowned – this isn’t about how  _ you _ feel!  _ Merlin _ , ‘Mione, how can you be so selfish?!” His fist pounded down on the table.

Suddenly Draco didn’t sound so bored, and Hermione was certain if she’d been able to open her eyes she’d see that he was pointing his wand at the redhead across from them. “Enough.”

“I feel odd. Make ‘im go ‘way, Draco,” she slurred against his collar. Through the waves of vertigo, she felt Draco stand with her in his arms and begin walking. The music and moving lights in the ceiling really weren’t helping, and they must have cut across the dance floor, because she was being jostled as if they were moving through a thick crowd. Draco was arguing with someone, ordering them to get away repeatedly. He was speaking loudly and sounded very upset, and then he was calling even more loudly what sounded like Harry’s name. She drifted into a soft, puffy cloud of unconsciousness, and her last somewhat lucid thoughts were that there were an awful lot of people quite close to her, and a few of them had just recently brushed their teeth.


	28. Saturday Evening

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Saturday - Evening

When she became aware of her surroundings again, Hermione found herself in the infirmary with a blurry host of familiar faces surrounding her cot. Harry, Ginny, and Luna leaned over her, while a pale blonde head did the same on the other side. Someone with a very large hand was holding one of hers, she thought. She must have dozed off again, because when she awoke, Lucius sat near her head. She tried to sit up, but he held her to her pillow with a finger to her forehead.  _ Is it Sunday evening already? I don’t think I’m ready for our visit. _ _ I’m wearing hospital pyjamas.  _

Just then, Madam Pomfrey pushed between Harry and Luna, ordering, “Back away, all of you. She’s not dying, for Merlin’s sake!”

The matron carried a laden tray, which she set on the cot-side table. She poured out a glass of water and a large dose of something strong-smelling. “Now sit up and drink this down. And don’t bother with these  _ malingerers _ until your head feels clearer. I’ll be back shortly.”

The young witch downed the potion obediently.  _ Oh - just Vitamix Potion _ ,  _ thank Circe. _ Its strong peppermint fumes seemed to penetrate her skull, and she began to feel more like herself almost immediately. She turned to Lucius, who sat nearest her head. “What on earth are you doing here?”

His eyebrows were drawn in displeasure, or perhaps concern. It was the same frown he’d worn years ago, when she’d been brought as a prisoner to his house. “Draco Floo’d me after they’d brought you here, and I Apparated directly here with Albus’ permission. What happened?”

Hermione sat up slowly, and Ginny stepped forward to rearrange her pillows. “Stop fussing over me - I’m perfectly fine! I think I . . . fainted,” she replied in a questioning tone, looking to her friends for an answer.

“You did. It was the same thing that happened Wednesday,” answered Draco.

“Well, this is just ridiculous. If the covenant is responsible, it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, really - how are vertigo and fainting going to do anything to help when I’m around someone it doesn’t like? I can’t even defend myself,” she huffed.

Harry spoke up. “The headmaster is looking into it right now, ‘Mione. Until we know more, Ron will be forbidden to approach you. He won’t be able to get near enough to cause you any more trouble.”

She reached for the glass of water on the table and glared when three sets of hands shot out to help her. “If you insist on treating me like a damsel in distress, I will insist that you leave at once.  _ All _ of you,” she added to her wizards in particular.

The Vitamix Potion was a good antidote for her condition, and by the time Madam Pomfrey returned, Hermione was determined to leave. “Oh, no, Miss Granger. You’d better make yourself comfortable, because you’ll be spending the night here. The effects of Vitamix are temporary, and from what your friends have told me, your symptoms persisted for several hours earlier this week.”

It was true, but Hermione stubbornly refused to admit it. She argued, “I don’t know why it matters where I sleep. I’ll have three other Gryffindors to see me safely to the tower, and then what could possibly happen to me?”

“You’re staying, and that’s final. I’ll be back later with your bedtime potions.” The matron turned at the foot of the bed, adding, “Don’t make me magically restrain you as well, Miss Granger. I won’t hesitate to do so.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and slumped back against her pillows crossly. Harry smiled in relief. “Now  _ there’s _ the Hermione we’ve all missed this past week! Welcome back. And,” here he turned to Draco and Lucius with a knowing smile, “good luck, you two. Come on girls, time to go.”

Ginny squeezed her hand and Luna checked under her cot for something that sounded like red-trembled umbloots. “All clear, ‘Mione! Sweet dreams,” the blonde witch called sweetly as she was dragged away by the other two.

She glared at the ceiling for as long as possible, until finally Lucius cleared his throat. The sound struck a chord within her, and she was sure it was part of some recent memory.  _ Where have I heard that before?  _ She refocused and looked toward him, only to find that he looked  _ amused _ . “What’s funny about any of this?”

For once his twinkling eyes had no effect on her, and she ranted, “This is all your fault, you know - you two and your possessive covenant. A week ago I could have knocked Ron’s lights out, and now I’ve been reduced to a swooning maiden! Is that what you want - a weakling, unable to defend herself? Because that’s what I feel like!”

The familiar voice of the headmaster spoke from behind Lucius and Draco. “In my humble opinion, such a witch would be a much less suitable Wife for your wizards. The three of you are quite like-minded. Have you not noticed how well matched you are in character? Perhaps instead of being reduced to something less, you have been given different tools with which to achieve your goal. Sometimes the things we see as weaknesses are merely undeveloped strengths.”

His short speech was met with a somewhat stony glance from the young witch, and he continued, “Good evening, Miss Granger. I trust you are feeling better?”

“If by better, sir, you mean frustrated and confused, then yes. And I’m not sure why I’m even here. There’s nothing really wrong with me, other than a possible inner-ear imbalance.”

“I hope to help with that. What do you know of covenants, Miss Granger?”

_ Oh, here we go again. If he holds out something - anything - for me to take, I’m going to hex him. _ “Nothing, other than what you told me after you’d got me to accept a war-stake imbued with one.”

He ignored her jibe, continuing, “No two are alike. Some are quite simple and easily satisfied, while others are extremely complex. I believe we talked about their varying degrees of sentience. And, of course, with sentience comes emotion. Love, hate, protectiveness, jealousy - these are things all sentient beings are capable of feeling. I have been talking with my brother - you do know of Aberforth, Miss Granger?”

“I’ve met him, yes.”

“He spent a good deal of his earlier years researching covenants. Fascinating things, he says. Not having one in our family, , I have assiduously avoided them my entire life.”

“And does Aberforth know why this is happening to our witch?” Lucius’ voice cut in sharply.

“He is willing to explain what he can. Obviously, he will not be acquainted with the specifics of your family’s covenant. I have asked him to meet with us in the morning.”

Draco asked, “And she'll be safe here? He’ll stay away?” The ‘he’ was obviously Ron, and Hermione sat up quickly.

“Actually, I’d like to have a come-to-Merlin meeting with that idiot. Draco, you heard what he said at the party - he’s completely deluded. Someone needs to set him straight, and I want it to be me.” It seemed that she had sat up too quickly, because the room had done that tippy thing again, and she felt her body sway along with it.

Lucius gently but firmly pushed her down so that her head was once again on her pillow. “Lie down like a good girl and stop worrying me.” 

She opened her mouth to say something she knew she’d regret later, and closed it when she saw the look on his face.  _ He really is worried, and here I am having a tantrum because I don’t like not knowing what’s going on. My poor Lucius. _ Hermione reached out and stroked the back of his hand, which was still lying on her pillow.

Madam Pomfrey arrived, announcing that visiting hours were over. She handed Hermione another dose of Vitamix and watched her swallow it down before handing her another small vial. The young witch sniffed it cautiously. “Sleeping Draught?”

“Yes. I find it’s the best way to keep obstinate witches where they’re supposed to be. You’ll drink it and then say goodnight to your wizards,” ordered the matron crisply.

The headmaster took his leave, as did Madam Pomfrey as soon as Hermione had emptied the vial. Lucius and Draco drew near on either side of her, and she reached out to hold their hands.  _ It’s not as though I’m actually _ upset  _ with either of them. _ _ Silly snakes. _ The potion was already meddling with her thought processes, making her feel tipsy. Hermione raised the two large hands to her face, kissing them both even as she yawned. “I’m sorry I was so awful.”

Lucius leaned down to give her a sweet kiss. “My concern for you is perhaps excessive. It will take time for us to learn each other’s ways, pet.” His edges were blurring slightly as he sat up.

“I want to learn all your ways, Lucius, ‘specially the wicked ones,” she said drowsily.  _ My verbal filter went night-night. _ Now he was almost completely blurry, except for his beautiful blue eyes. She turned her head to find Draco.

“Kiss me g’night, Draco, ‘fore I start snoring, please.” She assumed he was the hazy shape moving toward her, and was proved right when she felt his soft lips press against hers once, then twice. Her eyelids were suddenly very heavy, and she struggled to keep them open.

“Sweet dreams, witch.”

Her breath was evening out. She smiled peacefully and mumbled drunkenly as sleep overtook her, “Mmmmmmm. ‘Gonna lick you all over.”

Late that night, her drugged sleep passed into a more lucid state. Her body slept on, yet her brain whirred to life. It was as if her mind was a giant blackboard, and on it all the little things of the past week that hadn’t seemed worth noticing suddenly added up to meaningful sums. It was the kind of Arithmancy that was so perfect it could only be achieved in a dream state such as this, and Hermione struggled to follow the columns of hints and meanings that were spelled out with such clarity. She was aware of another presence as she stood in front of the blackboard, but was so preoccupied with the puzzles before her that she barely acknowledged it.

Professor Dumbledore’s words were looping through her mind. Like-mindedness.  _ Is that the case - that we’re well matched? Will we learn each other’s ways, as Lucius said?  _ Something warm and encouraging within her was pleased with this thought, and she realized it was the presence. It seemed to whisper back softly,  _ ‘yes.’ _

_ That’s the voice that kept saying ‘not yet!’ earlier this week. It’s you, isn’t it! _ It was less a form than a feeling, and it shimmered against the edges of her mind as she focused on it.

The components on the blackboard were still shifting about and being recalculated, but Hermione’s curiosity had moved to seeking out this gentle presence. It was obvious to her that this was a manifestation of the Malfoy covenant within her.

_ ‘Hello? Are you there?’ _ The warmth increased, the sensation of being embraced returned, and with it images of her wizards looking at her in love and desire. Hermione felt delight and a sense of rightness, and realized these emotions, although appropriate, weren’t her own.  _ ‘Are these your own emotions? This is how you feel about me?’ _ The warmth abated, and she tried again.  _ ‘This is how you feel when Lucius and Draco look at me that way?’ _ She was assailed by a wave of happiness, and knew she’d guessed correctly.

A quick succession of images ran through her mind, and with each came a different emotion from the covenant. For Minerva there was tolerance. For Molly and Harry’s girls, affection. Harry himself seemed to inspire admiration and amusement. For the headmaster, there was respect, but also resentment. That one made her pause, seeking clarification.  _ ‘How can you resent the one who got me to accept you?’ _ This kind of communication wasn’t easy, but Hermione liked a good challenge. She ran through as many possible reasons for such a response, and finally felt a flicker.  _ He tricked me, and you don’t like that. Well, I would have chosen you and your wizards in the end either way. I’m starting to think Dumbledore just set things on a faster track. Now let’s stop beating around the bush and talk about Ron Weasley. _

The covenant’s obvious displeasure rattled about in her brain with a jarring sensation, and even in sleep Hermione felt awash in waves of vertigo.  _ That’s exactly what you do every time I don’t walk away from him! Why do you do this? _ _ You need to stop! _ The covenant would not be calmed, and finally the young witch gave up and tried to ride out the storm of emotion passing through her. Eventually the presence quieted, and nudged her thoughts in what could only be interpreted as an apology.

_ I’m not going to let him hurt your wizards, and I’m certainly not going to let him hurt me. Have you even met me? I can take care of myself! Please trust me - your way can only end badly. _ The presence retreated until Hermione could no longer feel it. She eventually grew tired of waiting for it to return, and slipped into a sound sleep.


	29. Sunday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: Coquette Kitten

Sunday Morning

Hermione woke the next morning feeling refreshed. She lay in her cot quietly while the sun came up and thought about her dreams from the previous night. Were they in fact just dreams, or had she really communicated with the covenant? Tentatively she reached out in her mind to find it. The faintest of flickers in the corner of her mind confirmed her suspicions, and she sat up excitedly.

A movement beside her caused her to jump. It was Lucius. He sat beside the bed in an armchair that looked suspiciously like the one in the Headmaster’s office alcove, Hermione knew at once he’d Transfigured it himself. He looked as though he’d been there all night, judging by the stubble on his face and his less-than-put-together appearance. Her wizard had shed his robes and waistcoat at some point, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and untucked from his trousers. He sat casually in his chair, long-boned and aristocratic, and his long, pale hair was unbound, framing his handsome face. She drank in this different look greedily.  _ Yum. _

Lucius was drinking tea, the fragrance of which wafted through the air to the young witch’s nose. He held out his arms in a welcoming gesture, and she scrambled out of bed and onto his lap, holding out her hands in supplication. He raised an elegant eyebrow but handed her the cup, which she promptly drained.

“Hmmmmm. Thank you.” She set the empty teacup beside him and snuggled into her nook, reaching up to rub her fingers and then her lips over the fascinating scratch of his cheeks and throat. “What are you doing here, you silly wizard? You look as if you spent the night in this chair.”

“Indeed, I did. More tea?” The moment she’d curled in his lap, Lucius had wrapped her in his arms and held her close. Now he leaned his cheek on the top of her head, and she felt his stubble prick against her scalp through her hair. 

She closed her eyes in contentment, continuing to stroke his rough jaw. “No, thank you. I thought Madam Pomfrey told you to leave.”

“That old dragon lost her flame years ago. She’ll tuck her tail between her legs and run if I say ‘boo’.”

“You shouldn’t make a habit of terrifying people.”

“I’ve made a fortune with that skill, and if it helps me get my way, I don’t see the problem.” Conversation with him would never be dull - he was as clever and provocative in his speech as he was in his mannerisms.

“Lucius, why are you still here? You should have gone home and slept in your bed.”

“I lost a witch once, in a cot much like this. I wouldn’t have slept, had I left you,” he said in a quiet but emotionless voice.

Hermione stroked his chest gently. “I only fainted.”

“Let us talk about something entirely different. What on earth has happened to you, my prize? Your hair is awry, your makeup smeared, and you’re wearing the most hideous pair of pajamas I have ever seen.” 

His abrupt attempt to change the conversation from the subject of Narcissa tugged at the young witch’s heart, but she teased back, “You’re not blind to all my shortcomings? I’m wounded, Lucius!”

He tightened his arms around her for a moment. Hermione felt his protection and love wash over her in a very physical sense. She ventured, “Someday will you tell me about . . .”

“Let us not dwell in the past.  _ Now _ ,” he continued in a much different tone, “my lovely Bespoken one is sitting on my lap, and I intend to spend my time wisely.” Lucius’ words and then his mouth interrupted her train of thought, which she promptly forgot. He tasted like tea, and she was so distracted by this that she almost missed the sensation of his hand slipping under her pajama shirt to rub against the bare skin of her back. It caused a shiver of pleasure to run through her.  _ I think my entire body is one big erogenous zone with this man.  _ “What about our chaperone?”

“In her office with the door open. Now hush and let me kiss you.” His lips touched hers lovingly at first, worshipping her mouth with the softest of presses and brushes. Eventually the kiss turned playful as he nipped at her full lips and sucked her bottom one into his mouth. His hand was splayed across her back under her pajama top, warm skin on warm skin, and Hermione gave a little moan of pure pleasure against her wizard’s mouth. Lucius responded by deepening the kiss and pulling her against his chest. His hand moved up her back, caressing between her shoulder blades before slipping to her side. She felt her body respond almost instantaneously to his touch. Want and need stirred deep in her abdomen and pulsed outward until her entire body seemed to throb.

Lucius wasn’t hesitant by any means. Hermione was sure it was because he felt her steady heartbeat, pressed as she was between his hand and chest. He was kissing her hungrily now, and his thumb moved down her side, sketching her ribs before pushing upward to rub against the lower curve of her breast, as he had over her shirt during the match yesterday.  _ Mmmmmm.  _ _ More. _

Her own hands, which had been combing through his hair, slid to his chest, and she mapped out his shape much as she had done to Draco the day before. Lucius was broad, solid, and well-muscled. Hermione’s fingers ran from his collarbones down his sternum and then over his pectorals, learning the masculine curves of his upper body. She slipped her hand beneath his shirt where it was unbuttoned and laid it against his warm skin _. More. _ She scrabbled with the next button, wanting access to more of him and encouraged by the deep groan he gave into her mouth. That sound seemed to be connected to the apex of her legs, and she squirmed against his thigh as that now-familiar, pleasant, torturous coil wound yet tighter.

Suddenly, the heavy door to the infirmary at the far end of the room creaked its opening sound, and Lucius reluctantly pulled his mouth from hers. They both turned their heads to look in that direction. His thumb made one more slow, teasing sweep against her breast as the Headmaster, Aberforth, Draco, and Harry made their way through the door, and then he slid his hand down to her waist.

“Saved by the chaperone, my love. Why don’t you go trouble Draco as you did me, so that I may collect myself?” His voice was rough, his eyes were wild, and his eyes burned wherever they touched her skin. She pressed one last kiss to his chin and slipped from her perch on his thigh.

Hermione and Draco tangled in each other’s arms briefly while she greeted the others. When they disengaged, he looked her over with a tender smirk.  _ I’ll bet I look positively frightful. _ She blushed. “I’m just going to wash my face,” she explained to the group over her shoulder as she fled to the infirmary washroom.

She’d completely forgotten her rumpled appearance while basking in Lucius’ confidence.  _ How does he do that? He makes me feel as though I could conquer the world. I love that about him.  _ She felt a contented nudge from the covenant within. One look in the mirror confirmed her suspicions, but even more noteworthy were her distinctly kiss-swollen lips and the flush of her cheeks. She scrubbed her face of all sleep and makeup. There was nothing to be done for the awful pajamas, but at least a toothbrush had been set out for her, and so in less than five minutes a somewhat presentable Hermione was heading back to the area near her cot.

Professor Dumbledore had Summoned chairs for those present. Hermione gratefully sank into the one between Lucius and Harry, ignoring both her wizards’ annoyed looks at her choice of seating.  _ They’re as bad as two toddlers who need cuddle toys. Besides, I might explode with frustration if they do anything to tease me right now. _ She did, however, reach out to her older wizard and clasp his hand with hers. 

It was Aberforth Dumbledore who began the meeting. “I understand there is an issue with the Malfoy covenant and your bride-to-be.”

Draco answered, “In the past few days, each time she’s near a certain wizard she’s fainted and at times appeared drunk and disoriented.”

“Who is this wizard, and what is his connection to Miss Granger?”

“Ronald Weasley. His brothers cast war stakes for her, but he did not.” 

Aberforth looked to his brother, who added, “I did not give the Weasley stake precedence because it was not unanimous. Mr. Weasley holds no claim to pursue this witch, other than what would seem to be his own stubborn ignorance.”

“We believe her symptoms are inflicted by our covenant, and seek a solution that does not involve risk of her safety. It has never acted in such a way, according to the Malfoy histories.”

Hermione was intently seeking out the presence within her. When she felt it flutter against her consciousness, she reached out to it gently. When she spoke, her face was set in concentration and her eyes were closed. “No, Lucius - that doesn’t sound quite right. I don’t think the covenant is purposely causing me to feel this way. It’s not an ‘infliction’, so to speak. Wait a minute while I . . .” She trailed off in thought.

“How could you possibly know?” Aberforth’s question was blunt, but his tone was curious.

She replied, eyes still shut, “I’ve felt it several times over the past week. Each time I wanted to tell Ron about my betrothal, a little voice, or more like a feeling, told me to wait - that it wasn’t time. I just assumed it was my subconscious. Last night, though, I’m sure I communicated with it.”

“You spoke with it?” Aberforth asked.

“In a way. I thought of something and then felt an emotional response to it. For instance, the idea of Lucius and Draco caused positive feelings - love, warmth, a feeling of safety. I wondered at first if those were my own feelings, but somehow just knew they weren’t. 

“I tried again, wondering if the emotions belonged to the covenant, and I  _ knew _ that was it, because I immediately felt a happiness that wasn’t exactly coming from  _ me _ . Then I thought about confronting Ron Weasley, and the covenant panicked. In fact, whenever I think about what I’d like to do or say to him, that’s what happens. It’s not trying to give me direction - it’s just  _ feeling _ .”

Aberforth looked to Lucius and Draco for corroboration. “Does this sound like your own interactions with the family covenant?” 

“I have received guidance and, at times, a sense of precognition, but I have never tried communicating with it,” Lucius replied as he looked speculatively at Hermione.

Draco agreed. “The same is true for me. I know without a doubt the covenant runs in my blood and works to further my success, but I have never felt it other than as Lucius described. I sense no feelings I could attribute to anyone other than myself.”

“But it’s  _ there _ ! I can feel it even now, and I’m certain that if I could just reason with it somehow, it would understand what it is I want to do.”

“And what, exactly, is that?” asked the Headmaster.

“Well, what I’d  _ really _ like to do is hex his-” here she stopped herself short, blushing as she remembered her audience, “What I mean to say is, I’d like to tell him  _ exactly _ what I think of him. I’d like to be the one to rip off those blinders of utter stupidity he’s been wearing for so long. I need the chance to be honest with him. We were friends for so long . . .” Hermione’s voice grew quieter and quieter as she spoke until, at the end, she was barely audible.

“Absolutely not. You will stay away from him. The covenant has decreed it,” growled Lucius. His hand had gradually tightened around hers while she spoke, and now his grasp was almost uncomfortable. Hermione opened her eyes and looked at Draco, who had a conflicted look on his face.

“Aberforth, what do you have to offer?” his brother asked.

Aberforth Dumbledore smiled apologetically at Hermione. “I’m afraid I have nothing to add, except to note that Miss Granger seems to have a strong affinity for the magic of her new family. The three of you should discuss her desire to confront the wizard in question. If you can find a solution that is acceptable to all, perhaps the covenant will be more amenable. If you cannot, then the only thing is to avoid this wizard.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but that hardly seems like a solution,” argued Hermione. “Surely your studies have given you  _ some  _ insight into this problem.”

"If my studies have taught me one thing, it is that the most sentient covenants seek out souls of affinity. Such relationships begin in simplicity and grow quite complex in time. The Malfoy magic is obviously of advanced sentience, and therefore capable of having thought and opinion. There is a good chance that by reaching consensus within your family, the covenant can be swayed. Until then, do not underestimate its power. I will look over my journals and contact you if something comes to light.” He shrugged, obviously no wiser in the end than they were. “Albus, I will see myself out.”

Hermione tried to keep her face clear of annoyed frustration as she thanked the old wizard for his time and watched him leave.  _ Well, he was absolutely no help whatsoever. I want to talk to Ron! And (she focused her thoughts on the presence within her) don’t even think about panicking right now! _ The Headmaster sat silently with his head down, as if he was in deep thought.

Harry, who had been quiet for the duration of the short meeting, spoke up. “What exactly upsets you about the idea of ‘Mione confronting Ron?”

Lucius replied tensely, “She will stay away from him because I have said so.”

Hermione felt a small flare of irritation towards her wizard. “ _ She _ is right here and can think for herself!”

“Lucius, I don’t want Hermione to be near him any more than you, but I recognize that I don’t have a valid reason. If we are to be united in this stand, please help me understand your argument,” Draco countered earnestly.

The wizard still holding her hand looked murderously at the Headmaster. “Albus, you know my defense in this. Tell me it isn’t justified.”

Professor Dumbledore was still sitting with his head down. He looked up and said nothing, but his expression was one of sympathy for Lucius. Hermione was instantly curious. “What do you mean by that, Lucius?”

He dropped the hand he’d been holding and stood abruptly. “I must go. Until tonight.” He took the hand she lifted in protest, raised it to his mouth, and kissed it with a distinct absence of emotion. Lucius paused only long enough to gather his waistcoat and robes, and then he was gone. The infirmary door banged shut behind him, silencing the sound of his retreating footsteps.

It was her first glimpse of her wizard’s temper.  _ Draco did call him volatile.  _ The young witch turned her focus to the Headmaster. “Sir, what was all that about?”

“It is not my place to say, but I know Lucius well enough to be sure he will tell you in his own time.” With those cryptic words, the professor excused himself from the meeting and left the room. He seemed to be in a hurry, and Hermione wondered if he was trying to catch up with Lucius.

She moved to the wingback chair, which was still warm and smelled faintly of her wizard.  _ I want Lucius _ . “Draco?”

He looked as confused as she felt. “I have no idea what’s going on, but the Headmaster is right - Lucius will tell us when he’s ready. He’s obviously upset, and needs time to sort something out.”

Harry finally suggested finding something to keep them busy for the day. “You’ll see him tonight, ‘Mione. And I’m sure he’ll want to talk with you as well, Draco. In the meantime, let’s take another picnic to that spot by the lake. I’ll get the girls to work on it while you get ready for the day.” He ducked down to look Hermione in the eye, “By the time you go to sleep tonight, it’ll all be fine. I’m sure of it.”

Leaving the infirmary proved to be a lengthy process. Harry left for Gryffindor tower immediately in hopes of finding Ginny, who would be able to help getting clothes for Hermione. She’d adamantly refused to walk through the castle in either the hideous pajamas or the beautiful white dress, and begged for Harry’s help. “It’ll only start rumors if I’m seen going to my room the morning after a party in a dress like that, and these pajamas shouldn’t be legal. Please help me?”

Harry kindly agreed. Draco went to alert Madam Pomfrey that Harry was leaving, and the matron came out at once to give them the hairy eyeball. “There will be  _ no _ funny business while I’m responsible for the two of you. Mr. Potter, you will not dally on your errand. Mr. Malfoy, you will not even  _ sit _ on Miss Granger’s cot. Any seating will be on chairs only. Oh, and,” she added with narrowed eyes, “four feet on the floor at all times.”

The silver lining of this somewhat humiliating speech was that it temporarily cleared the air of previous troubles. Harry left with a good-natured roll of his eyes, Draco tried not to smirk, and Hermione blushingly dragged her wizard back to the relatively private far corner of the infirmary to talk.

It was Madam Pomfrey’s small Potions storeroom, but it had no door and so technically it was part of the infirmary. It was also the perfect space in which to steal a few moments together without being in breach of their rules. 

Her desire to talk was tempered with curiosity as she watched Draco look speculatively around the tiny area, and then at her with a similar look in his eye. “What is it?”

“Have you ever noticed,” he began as he wrapped his hands around her middle and lifted her off her feet, “How much shorter you are than I am? It’s nice to stand straight and look you in the eye every once in a while.”

The matron’s last barked order went out the window as he swung Hermione up onto the counter and gently pushed her legs apart to stand between them. It was waist-high for her wizard, and she curled her legs around his hips to pull him closer.  _ I can’t seem to get close enough to him, no matter how I try. _ Despite her perch, he was still taller than she was, and when she raised her eyes to his level, she found him looking back intently.

“Could you please not stare at me? I’m self-conscious enough in these hateful pajamas as it is, and the rat’s nest on top of my head is only making it worse.”

Draco leaned to put his head on her shoulder, speaking into the sensitive skin of her neck. “You look adorable. You’re all soft skin and bed-head, and you smell so good. I just want to be close to you right now.”

“It must be from the bubble bath I took before the party - I used scented oil in it.” She rubbed her bare feet against the soft wool of his trousers and ran her fingers through his pale hair.  _ All this sensory input, and we haven’t even kissed. _

Draco groaned in her ear. “You, in a tub of bubbles. I’m going to think about that later.”

“You know what else you can think about later? I’m going to sleep in your jersey tonight. It’s already tucked under my pillow, waiting for me,” she whispered, her devious smile hidden in his hair.

“Hermione, I promise you this is  _ not _ what I had in mind when we came back here,” her wizard groaned. She waited for him to pull away, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t. Draco trailed his lips along her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck to the collar of the pajamas. He tugged at the top button. “I know you don’t like these, and if it’s any consolation, I’d gladly remove them.”

Her mind was fogging over with desire as she used both her arms and legs to try and pull him flush against her. Draco’s mouth found hers just as his hands grabbed hold of her backside, and a moment later she gasped as that increasingly familiar bulge in his pants rubbed against her core in the most pleasurable of ways. Once, twice he rocked slowly against her and pushed his tongue inside her mouth in the same rhythm.  _ I’m going to die of delayed gratification _ . Hermione whimpered into his mouth just as she heard the sound of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes come click-clacking toward them.

Draco must have heard it, too, because he pulled away from her quickly with a tortured sound of frustration and pulled her off the counter. When the matron came round the corner, they were standing close together holding hands and Draco had his back to her.

“You two are much too far from my office. I can’t supervise what I can’t see. Come on, back you go.” Luckily Madam Pomfrey seemed distracted. She didn’t even look at them, but turned on her heel and directed them to follow her. Otherwise she would have had quite the show: Hermione’s eyes were bright, her cheeks were flushed, and she was panting lightly. Draco was in a worse state - there was a family-sized tent pitched in his trousers. 

The Healer stopped beside Hermione’s cot, pointing at two chairs. “You may sit here, side by side in separate chairs.”

“The Headmaster doesn’t have that rule, Madam Pomfrey,” protested Draco in a rough-voiced, less than courteous tone.

“That old fart probably isn’t aware of what mischief can be made in one chair by two members of the opposite sex. Besides, he left me in charge for now, and so you will follow my rules. Separate chairs.”

They looked at each other in disbelief. Draco collapsed in the wingback chair, and Hermione flopped onto her cot. Her body was throbbing with need, and her mood was quickly turning sour. Her wizard looked positively ill and was unusually uncollected in his speech patterns. “Hermione, I’m so sorry- I mean, I shouldn’t have- What I mean to say is—“

She had no sympathy whatsoever for him and interrupted crossly, “Oh, it’s alright for  _ you _ \-  _ you _ can go off and take care of things later, can’t you! But  _ me _ \- I can’t do any such thing! I am going to  _ die _ long before Friday . . .”

She trailed off in a whimper, draping a hand over her eyes dejectedly. There was a rustling sound, and then Draco was holding her other hand. She looked to see him kneeling by her cot and looking at her with heated eyes. “I don’t think you understand that rule. You don’t have to w-”

The infirmary door burst open just then to admit Harry and Ginny.


	30. Sunday Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Sunday Afternoon

Hermione felt slightly better after a long hot shower and something to eat. She had poured out every word and experience of the past twelve or so hours to Ginny, whose facial expressions had ranged from rapt, to sympathetic, to eye-rolling understanding. This last was in response to the description of Draco’s abrupt change in mood in the Potions storeroom.

“What I don’t understand is how he can go from a serious conversation to being completely turned on in less than five minutes. Not that I’m complaining,” she finished to her friend.

Ginny nodded her head knowingly. “Believe me, I do know what you mean. Not that I’m complaining, either. Charlie says it’ll probably always be that way, but that self-control improves with age.”

She wrinkled her nose in a quizzical way. “You really talk to Charlie about your sex life?”

“Oh, yes – well, you know Charlie; he’s completely uninhibited. I don’t think anything could take him by surprise, and that makes him easy to talk to. But then, you’ve talked to Harry before, haven’t you?”

Hermione laughed softly and recounted her first attempt to ask Harry about something sexual in nature. As she described the Fat Lady’s contribution to the conversation, Ginny exploded into giggles. “ _ Sweet Circe _ , Hermione! How can you even look at any of the portraits in the castle? She’s such a gossip!”

“I keep trying to tell myself that they need entertainment, too. And it can’t be the most embarrassing thing they’ve ever heard. Surely you three have put on at least one show for them.”

“Hmmmmm. You’re probably right.” The redhead looked as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her before. She glanced at the timepiece on Hermione’s bedside table. “We should get going.”

“Ginny? Would you mind . . . I mean I don’t know if I want to be  _ alone- _ alone with Draco this afternoon . . .”

Her friend looked at her speculatively. “Well, I know you’re not playing hard to get, so it must be a case of mild panic. Let me guess, you liked what you were doing earlier, but you’re not ready to find out what happens next?”

Hermione blushed and looked down at her hands. She realized she was wringing them nervously. “Something like that. Maybe I want to slow down a little.”

“No problem. I’ll attach myself to your side with a Sticking Charm if needed. But honestly, you have nothing to worry about; Draco adores you, and he’d never do anything that made you uncomfortable.”

“I know, but I just feel self-conscious all of a sudden, like I’ve been heading towards a certain destination all along without really thinking about it. Now there’s a metaphorical blinking sign over my head that says  _ Going to Have Sex Soon _ in flashing letters.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Draco has the same sign over his head. And I think his is bigger and flashier.”

The reminder that her younger wizard was in the same position as her was comforting, as was the fact that he cared for her very much.  _ I think it’s safe to say I’m in love with Draco Malfoy. _

They met Harry in the commons a little later, and the three made their way toward the entrance hall where Draco and Luna were waiting for them, arms laden with baskets and blankets. Conversation on the way to the picnic spot was dominated by a good-natured argument between Harry and Ginny. Luna, who skipped ahead of the rest, sang out a lively protective chant against odderknocks, which were apparently in season. 

Hermione walked beside Draco holding his hand. Her own mind was whirring away about all sorts of things, like Lucius’ stubborn refusal to see her point of view regarding Ron. She wondered what their visit tonight would be like now, and hoped he would answer her myriad questions. She also thought about those few heated minutes in the infirmary Potions storeroom with Draco, and what more might have happened if the matron hadn’t interrupted. He, too, seemed lost in thought.

Their contemplative moods slowly shifted as they neared their destination. The weather was unusually warm, the lake sparkled in the sun, and it was hard not to laugh at Luna’s antics. Outer robes were shed and heaped in a pile by an outcropping of rock. Blankets were spread out, food was portioned onto plates, and Hermione had the pleasure once again of seeing her wizard eat copious amounts of food with his beautiful hands. By the end of the meal, any nerves she’d felt earlier had disappeared and she was snuggled against his side, feeding him bites of chocolate cookie.

“Hey! Stop that!” She giggled as Draco once again caught her fingers instead of the cookie between his teeth.

His eyes crinkled in amusement and he quickly swallowed down his mouthful. “More, please.”

“Oh, no - I’m lucky to have all my fingers still as it is! You can feed yourself, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco broke apart another cookie and offered her half before flopping back contentedly. 

Hermione turned to face away from him and then lay back so that her head rested against his chest. She watched Harry and the girls pack up the remains of lunch and closed her eyes. The rise and fall of her wizard’s torso eventually lulled her into such a drowsy state that she turned on her side and fell into a light sleep.

She awoke a while later to find that she’d curled up into Draco’s side, her arm thrown over his chest. His arm had curved up and around her, holding her in place, and he was running the fingers of his other hand through her hair. Hermione could hear her friends talking amongst themselves a few feet away.

“Did I really fall asleep?”

Draco treated her to one of his soft, husky laughs. “Yes, and you’ve drooled all over my shirt.”

“I did not!” Hermione rolled to her stomach and looked down where her mouth had been. There  _ was _ a small wet spot, and she looked up with a guilty smirk. “Oops.”

“It’s quite alright. I’ve been drooled over by girls many times, although never in an actual physical sense.”

She laid her cheek on top of her hand where it rested on his chest. This way she could look at him but stay cuddled close. “So you could say I’m your first.”

Draco was looking skyward with a soft smile on his face. “Miss Granger, you are without doubt my first everything.”

The young witch couldn’t have asked for a more perfect set of circumstances. She had the safety net of her friends nearby, giving her and her wizard the illusion of privacy without actually providing any. They could talk freely, and continue to enjoy each other’s close proximity, and that was about all. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Hmmm. I’m getting married on Friday.”

“I’m being serious, Draco!”

He chuckled. “Very well. Hmmmm . . . I’m named after a constellation.”

“Oh, I know: Thuban is part of it, isn’t it? The ancient Egyptians’ pole star?”

Draco lifted his head to look at her with a sneer that was somehow filled with fondness. “Only you would know that. Your turn.”

“I like learning, and I keep track of what I know. Now you go.”

He tickled her ribs until she squirmed, arguing, “You can’t use that as both a response to my remark  _ and  _ answer to my question. Tell me something I  _ don’t _ know about you.”

It was hard to concentrate when his fingers still dug gently into her ticklish spots, but she finally managed, between giggles. “I used to have a familiar, a half-kneazle named Crookshanks.”

Draco stopped his torturous efforts against her sides. He sat up, sliding her head down to rest against his thigh. “Used to?”

“He disappeared after the battle here at school. I miss him.” Without meaning to, Hermione had steered them toward conversation of a more serious sort.

“So you’re a cat person?”

“I suppose, although I’m in no hurry to replace Crooks.”

Draco ran his hand through her hair, causing her to shiver. “I’m sorry to say that we have dogs at the Manor. I suppose now you’ll finally go running and screaming?”

Hermione sat up quickly, pleased with the idea. “What kind of dogs?”

He shrugged. “Big woolly hounds, I don’t know. They’ve been bred on our French estate for as long as anyone remembers. Lucius likes to keep some at the main house for company.”

Her heart was filled with tender concern for Lucius immediately. “For company - does he live all alone?”

“During the school year, yes, with the exception of the house elves. He travels so much for our businesses though, that I don’t really think he’s been home all that much since I first left for school.”

“Draco, will you tell me what you know of your mother?” Hermione felt shy all of a sudden and angled her body slightly away from her wizard so he couldn’t see her face. He pulled her back against his shoulder and kept his arm wrapped around her.

“Lucius doesn’t speak of her, and I’m certain it has nothing to do with lost love and the agony of remembrance. Over the years I’ve gathered she wasn’t a very nice woman.”

“But she was Bespoke.” In Hermione’s mind, the word was synonymous with love and compatibility.

Now Draco wrapped both arms around her and leaned his chin on her shoulder. “I once asked why he wouldn’t talk about her, and he simply said that he would have waited for another witch, but that Abraxas had claimed right of choice. Another time he said he believed that the only thing that qualified her as their Bespoken one was our covenant’s foreknowledge of my birth. I don’t think they were ever in love.”

“What about Abraxas?”

“He wasn’t very nice, either, from what little I’ve heard. I get the idea that Lucius did whatever he ordered, and not out of love.” Draco kissed her neck softly. “Let’s talk about something one of us  _ does _ know about. What were your parents like?

“They were wonderful. They worked hard and always had time for me. My father loved to read, and my mother sang and danced while she cooked and cleaned. They were so excited when I got my acceptance letter, and relieved, I think, to find out I wasn’t a freak after all. My magic manifested rather early, and they had no way of understanding what was going on.”

“You must miss them very much.”

Hermione leaned into Draco’s tender touches. “Yes, but now I know that I would have drifted from them eventually. The two worlds are just so different. And how would I have explained pureblood marriage traditions to them! I can’t even imagine the shocked horror on my father’s face, had I gone to him with the news that I was taking two husbands.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that thought, and Draco joined in. Emboldened by their exchange of information, she shifted to turn into his arms. She said quietly in his ear. “I like spending time with you like this. I mean, I like the things we do when we’re alone, too, but this is nice.”

Her wizard drew her close in a sweet embrace and sighed. “I apologize for constantly testing your limits, Hermione. It’s just . . . I’ve waited and hoped for this so long that I forget you’re still getting used to the idea. Please help me know when to stop,” he begged quietly against her temple.

She pushed away to look up at him in surprise. “Oh, Draco - no! That’s not what I meant at all. I . . . I want to be with you like that. The way that you,” here she dropped her eyes and blushed deeply, but pressed on, “the way that you touch me drives me crazy, and I can’t stop thinking about it when we’re apart. Well, actually I can’t stop thinking about it at all.” 

Draco shifted uncomfortably and sat back to put some distance between them. It was obvious he was trying not to be affected by the conversation, and Hermione found his efforts endearing. She also found that her own body was rapidly responding to her short speech.  _ Mother of magic, I just turned myself on. Now I want to jump his gorgeous bones _ . She leaned in to press a short, passionate kiss to his mouth and said, “And about what happened earlier, I’m sorry we were interrupted, and that I was cross with you. Will you forgive me?”

Draco groaned softly and leaned his forehead against hers. His voice was barely a strangled whisper against her lips. “There’s nothing to forgive, but that reminds me - I never got to explain. Your rules aren’t meant to make you miserable; they’re supposed to bring us closer together. You can’t bring yourself to climax, sweet witch, but we can. If that’s what you want, you only need to say the word. It’s part of our binding vows. If you remember, your pleasure shall be mine. I want to give you pleasure, Hermione.”

It was perhaps the most incendiary thing Hermione had ever heard, and her body was swept with a burn of want and need so hot that she felt as if she were aflame. Even as she leaned toward her wizard’s mouth, though, she heard Ginny call her name, and she was filled with the agonizing knowledge that she had sealed her own frustrated fate.  _ Nooooo! I had to ask her to stay with us for the afternoon, and now I won’t be able to get rid of her!  _ The curly-headed witch felt as though she could cry, but Ginny would not be ignored.

“’Mione! Did you hear me? Let’s all take a walk along the lake. Come on, before I drag you the whole way!”

If Ginny was aware of Hermione’s change of heart, she didn’t let on. She did, however, tactfully ignore the evil looks her friend shot at her and the state of the blond wizard following in her wake. The rest of the afternoon was spent in an endless exchange of heated looks and the torment of unfulfilled desire.


	31. Sunday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note to all you fans of BW (which I call my big silly baby): I cannot believe you're still reading this tripe! *insert laughing-to-the-point-of-crying emoji here* Nevertheless, I'm very glad you are, and I'm grateful for the very kind emails and kudos. Thank you! I simply cannot believe how many readers have emailed in pursuit of a complete download of BW. I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the AO3 uploads are done (but then you can download the entire thing and share it with whomever you like)! 
> 
> Life is, as always, busy here at Chez Glitter! Thank you for your patience with uploads.
> 
> Much love and kindest regards,
> 
> -G-

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Sunday Afternoon

The afternoon passed in a series of group activities interspersed with somewhat private moments. These transitions were enough to keep Hermione and Draco fluctuating between relaxed conversation and almost comic sexual tension. The walk had been a benevolent idea as far as Ginny’s nefarious scheme went. It allowed them to hold hands, talk quietly, but not much else. 

They trailed behind the others along the lakeside path. Draco had draped his arm over Hermione’s shoulder, and she leaned against his side. She’d noticed that, since Friday night’s visit, her wizard had worked assiduously to keep his hands (and hers) out of troublesome places. She found that she was disappointed in this development but unsurprised - Draco was a wizard with principles.

Something about that train of thought triggered a question. “Draco, are my feelings for you all my own, or are they being manipulated by the family magic? They feel so genuine, but I never would have thought I’d fall- I mean, I never would have thought I’d have such strong emotions for anyone so quickly.”

“There’s no magic involved - just us.”

“That’s nice to know. When, ummm, when did you _know_? Lucius told me he recognized me years ago, when I was twelve. But what about you?”

“He told me that day in Diagon Alley what you were - he said something like, ‘she’s Bespoke...’ But he didn’t finish the thought. And the covenant within me was aware of you constantly when we got to school, but I didn’t realize what that meant to me until fourth year.”

“Was there someone else?” _Why does that thought bother me so?_

“What? No, you misunderstand, Hermione. You were the first witch I ever saw as a _woman_ . On the train platform that year, after summer holiday, it was as though I was seeing you for the first time. You were _The One._ I began noticing everything about you, thinking about you, _dreaming_ about you . . . “

She gave his side a tender squeeze and thought how childish her crush on Ron seemed in comparison to Draco’s described feelings. He went on, “And those thoughts and dreams - they kept me going when things were at their worst.”

“You mean your spying during the war?” Thinking of her wizards and what they must have gone through during those dark years sent a surge of protectiveness through her being. _I will never let them suffer again_.

“Actually, I meant having to watch you get chased by that Bulgarian thug, and wondering what you were doing with him.” 

She would have smiled, but her wizard was in earnest. “Oh, Draco! I can’t believe I never noticed you. Then again, I didn’t notice boys much at all until very recently. You know, I didn’t,” here she looked up at her wizard shyly, “I didn’t do anything with Viktor. He tried to kiss me the night of the Yule Ball, but it didn’t feel right, and I told him I wasn’t ready for those kinds of things. I really did give you my first kiss.”

“What about the Weasel? You two were close, and you had feelings for him for quite a long time. Perhaps you didn’t kiss him, but . . . ”

She could tell by Draco’s tone and tense body that he was trying to hide his animosity toward the two wizards, and she smiled to herself. _I think I like jealous Draco_ . “That’s true, although what those exact feelings were I have no idea now. I never even _thought_ about doing the kinds of things with him that you and I have done. We did hold hands a few times,” she added with a laugh, “but his were sweaty.”

Draco paused, causing her to stop as well. The others were ahead by quite a ways, giving an illusion of privacy to the moment. He turned to her and wrapped his long, strong arms around her tightly, leaning to speak into her ear. “And what about these two wizards to whom you’re bound?”

She wriggled her arms out from his strong hold to curl them around his neck, combing her fingers through his soft hair. “They don’t have sweaty hands.”

He chuckled against her neck, plying her skin with soft, wet kisses. “Not what I meant, little witch.”

“I know exactly what you meant, and if you think that I’m going to hand-feed your ego you’re mistaken. For one thing, you bite. And for- ooooh, don’t stop what you’re doing.”

Of course, Ginny picked that moment to double back and interrupt. Hermione found herself dragged out of Draco’s arms and held hostage for some time between the girls. Harry gave her an apologetic smile and fell behind with her wizard.

“You are _diabolically_ _evil_ , Ginevra Weasley. That’s twice now that you’ve interrupted us!”

“ ‘Mione,” the redhead responded in feigned innocence, “I only did what you asked me!”

“Yes, when I was confused _beforehand_ ! And you _know_ I’ve changed my mind since then, don’t you!”

Ginny grinned. “Fred and George did this to me and Harry at the Burrow the first time we visited as an official couple. Now I can see why - it’s awfully fun. Besides,” here she gave a pitiful mock-pout, “I never see you anymore. Is it wrong to want to spend time with my friend?”

“Oh, you!” Even though it was meant in jest, Hermione saw the truth in it. She thought about how much differently her mealtimes and evenings were spent now, and how helpful her friends had been recently. “I know I’ve been saying this repeatedly, but thank you for all you’ve done for me since all . . . _this._ ”

“We’d do anything for you, Hermione,” chirped Luna sweetly. She’d been flitting back and forth between the conversation and looking for her blessed odderknocks. She added, “And you really shouldn’t let Ginny’s fun interfere with what you and Draco want to do. Just remember that we won’t mind you performing intimate acts in front of us.”

“Errrr, the thing is, Lu, that the reason they’re called _intimate_ acts is that most people prefer to- You know what, never mind.” She devoted her efforts to hunting imaginary creatures with her gentle friend, all the while wondering how soon might be considered appropriate to run back to her fiancé.

She was saved from this dilemma when the two wizards caught up with them. Draco looked at her with obvious longing, but held himself back. _He’s trying to be sensitive to what I want_ , she reminded herself. _He’s wanted to be near me for years, and now all of a sudden he knows I want to be near him, too. It must be driving him crazy._ Hermione made her way to his side and drew his arm around her. “I missed you terribly. Please don’t let her drag me away again.”

His grip on her side tightened, and he slowed their pace so that they once again fell behind the others. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

_I want you._ “I have a newfound appreciation for Quidditch, especially the uniforms.” She reached around his back to tickle his far side and yelped when he returned the gesture.

“The uniforms?”

“Well, I think you know how much I like the jerseys, but the trousers are very nice, too.” She leaned her head against the side of his chest, craning her head to watch his reactions. Walking like this with him, feeling his muscles move under her touch, was enough sensory input to send desire once again flooding through her system.

He looked down at her in puzzlement. “You’re not going to want to borrow my trousers, too, are you? You’d swim in them.”

“Oh, no - I much prefer them on you,” she replied impishly.

Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You like the way I look in my uniform trousers. That’s good to know, Miss Granger.”

“Your turn.”

“I have a newfound appreciation for witches’ fashions, particularly on you. The dress you wore last night was _unbelievable_.” His hand squeezed her hip reflexively, and like that Hermione’s knickers were soaked.

She countered in a breathless sort of voice. “Unbelievably short and revealing!” 

He leaned to murmur quietly, “I carried you from Ravenclaw tower to the infirmary. Believe me when I say I know how short and revealing that dress is. I can’t wait for you to wear it again.”

As he spoke in her ear, his hand trailed a path from her hip, up her side, and over the curve of her breast. He pulled away from her with a sigh. “Lucius tells me conversation is the easiest way to avoid breaking these blasted rules. Clearly he’s never tried talking with you.”

Her curiosity flared up at the mention of Draco’s own set of rules. “Tell me another of your rules. Please?” She looked up at him expectantly.

Draco looked very uncomfortable, and after a long while finally said, “I am never to put you in a compromising position.”

“Such as on the counter in the Potions storeroom?” She asked mischievously, trying not to smile.

He blushed. “Such as that.”

“Can you tell me why? I mean, we’re getting married in a week – surely people expect us to . . . “ She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

Draco chuckled. “You’re the future wife to the house of Malfoy, and as such should be afforded every sign of respect and courtesy. At least, that’s the official explanation for this rule. If you want the truth of it, I think Lucius doesn’t want anyone else to get an inappropriate glimpse of you. Neither do I, for that matter. And we certainly don’t want anything scandalous to be printed about you.”

_“Hussy Hermione Hurries Husbands-to-Be into Hanky Panky?”_ She asked, with a smirk.

“More like the opposite: _Frenzied Fiancé Finger F_ \- _errrr,_ my sincerest apologies, Hermione.” Draco’s pale face hadn’t flamed such a deep red in several days, and he winced at his impulsive gaffe.

She blushed, but smiled and said, “The fact that I knew where you were going with that proves I’m not as naïve as you think.”

“Still, I don’t think either of us is ready to talk to each other that way.”

“No,” she agreed self-consciously. “Not yet. Back to your rules - both times I’ve asked you about your rules, you’ve been embarrassed to tell me, but in the end, neither is particularly embarrassing.”

Draco blushed again, but he smirked as well. “I think it’s more how Lucius worded them that makes me flustered around you. Once I figure out a way to say it in a less . . . _ribald_ . . . way, it’s not so bad.”

“Ribald?” Her mind had got stuck on that word, and she was surprised at her body’s immediate reaction to the idea of Lucius using salacious language in reference to her. _I think I want him to say naughty things to me._

“As I’ve said, our relationship is more fraternal than anything else. We speak to each other as brothers do.” By the intent look he was giving her, he was obviously trying to convey meaning beyond his word. Suddenly Lucius’ words from the morning before came back to her. _We speak by Floo each night_ . She felt both shocked and aroused. _Sweet Circe, I think they talk dirty about me._

Their forward progress had long since ceased, and Hermione was aware of a large outcropping of stone near where they stood on the footpath. As best she could, she herded him behind the natural wall and dragged him down to her level for a searing kiss. 

Draco eagerly kissed her back and let his hands wander over her body, finally settling one to span her arse with a firm grip. He leaned back against the rock and bent at the knees, bringing himself closer to her height. His free hand gripped her waist for a moment, ran over her stomach, and then slid upwards to palm her breast. _Yes, please._ Not wanting to be so many inches apart from him, Hermione moved her feet apart slightly to get around his long legs. That’s all the encouragement he needed to pull her flush against him, and for one brief second she was sure he was going to move against her aching, throbbing center as he had earlier that morning. His hand tightened around the lush, soft skin of her breast, fingers brushing against her nipple, and the sensation caused her to gasp his name against his lips. The young witch clung to her wizard’s shoulders and kissed him hungrily as he held her motionless against his body. He pulled his lips away from hers just enough to say, “I want you, Hermione.” 

As if his own words had cut through the fog in his mind, he seemed to become aware of their position. Draco shook his head as if to clear it. He took a deep breath, kissed her once more, and then stood to his full height. Hermione whined and drew his mouth back down to hers. Draco’s eyes were dark and glazed as she responded with a throaty, “I want you, too,” and he kissed her back with equal fervor. However, he kept his hands on her hips, and those hands kept her away from him. It was obvious that this was one compromising situation he was determined they escape. 

“Let’s go somewhere less tempting,” he said in a rough voice as he pulled her out from their hiding spot. They caught up with the others more quickly than Hermione would have liked, and not long after the group turned to head back to the picnic spot. 

Draco successfully repelled the rest of Ginny’s attempts to steal Hermione away, although he kept them in the company of the others for the rest of the afternoon. When they were finally packing up to head back to the castle, Draco said in an undertone of careful consideration, “Of course, the headmaster’s office is a place free of scandal. Nearly anything can happen there, if two people are in agreement.”

He was carefully folding a blanket as he spoke, and at first she thought she might have imagined his words until he met her eyes with a heated look. Then he turned back to his task as if he hadn’t just simultaneously written her a blank check for compromising scenarios and been the cause of her now-soaked knickers.

They were back at the castle by four o’clock. At the base of Gryffindor tower, Hermione pulled her wizard to the back of the staircase and soundly kissed him goodbye. He drew away from her lips enough to say with twinkling eyes and an almost-smile, “Why, Miss Granger! I had no idea you felt this way about me.”

“Be quiet and kiss me, Mr. Malfoy,” she ordered, trying to keep a straight face.

He gave her a teasingly quick peck on the lips and tugged on one of her loose curls. “Pushy little witch, aren’t you?”  
  


Hermione laughed softly just as he stole another, longer kiss. Draco took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth and swallowed her happy sound. When her lips were swollen and her breath irregular, he straightened to look down at her. “Sit with me at breakfast in the morning? At my table?”

“If you’ll lunch with the Gryffindors, then yes, I will.” The act of sitting down for a meal at another house table would have been unthinkable even a few days ago, but now it was simply an opportunity to be close to Draco.

“If I know Lucius, there’ll be an evening visit of some sort, so we won’t have to fight over that meal.”

“Goodnight, Draco. Think of me later, sleeping in just your jersey.”

He smirked at her then, full of that confident arrogance that had been peeking out off and on since the Quidditch match, and she may have swooned a bit. “Oh, I plan to do just that. And Hermione - make sure it’s _just_ my jersey you’re wearing tonight.” 

As he added that last part, his hands trailed over her backside, and she blushed in comprehension. _Draco just said he wants me to take my knickers off for him._ Hermione swallowed thickly, nodded slowly, and firmly denied herself the impulse to jump up into his arms and wrap her legs around his waist. She may have, however, turned the tables on her wizard a bit by reaching out and running her forefinger along the front waistband of his trousers in a torturously slow motion. The fact that his eyes closed and his mouth dropped open assured her that this was the case.

After that he walked her back to the foot of the stairs, bowed low over her left hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to her handmark. Harry and Luna were waiting halfway up the staircase, but Ginny had waited at the bottom step and as soon as Draco was out of earshot she gave a blissful sigh. “Watching you two really is better than reading one of my mum’s romance novels.”

“I’m not sure if romantic is the right word. He just told me I’m to be knickers-free under his jersey tonight.”

“Maybe you should send him a pair as proof.” Ginny’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “We have time, you know.”

Hermione flushed and bit her lip against a nervous smile. “If you think he’d like that.”

Her friend looked offended for a moment, responding, “If I _think_? I thought we’d already established that, not only do I know what I’m doing, I’m also diabolically evil!”

The redhead began loudly bossing the three others around immediately as only a female Weasley could. “Luna, you’re going to have to keep Harry company until later. And Harry, don’t you dare go anywhere near your clean sheets until you take a shower - you need scrubbing after what we did this morning! And _you_ ,” here she looked at Hermione, “are going to come with me. We have a _lot to get done_.”


	32. Sunday Evening

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Sunday Evening

The two girls spent the late afternoon and early evening in a manner similar to how they had the day before, with the exception that Hermione was more conversational. They soaked in bubbles, rubbed scented oil into their skin, and all the while she talked with her friend about Lucius and Draco, their apparent efforts to slowly kill her with sexual frustration, and the courtship rules that governed their current behavior. Either her haze of desire was contagious or her descriptions of her most recent experiences were especially vivid, because Ginny listened with flushed cheeks and uneven breath.

She was also unusually tongue-tied. “ _Circe on a_. . . ‘Mione! You’re saying . . . Draco said . . . I mean, I knew you’d eventually get to . . . whew!” Ginny fanned herself rapidly with her hand. “Far, far better than a romance novel!”

“We’re getting married in six days, Ginny - it’s a fairly natural progression! I just wish we’d progressed a little bit farther today. I feel like I’m going to die if someone doesn’t relieve all this tension inside me!” She moaned miserably in self-pity. “And why do you find this so exciting? It’s not like you haven’t done all this and more with Harry.”

“Yes, but _your_ wizards are clearly _talkers_ . That’s a _very good_ thing. Harry’s excellent at what he does, but he’s strictly a man of action. There’s something unbelievably hot about being told what’s going to happen. No wonder you’re such a mess all the time now!” She added, “I predict Lucius is going to be a very happy wizard tonight.”

Hermione wondered if that would be true, given the state her wizard had been in when he’d left earlier, but she kept her thoughts to herself as Ginny began rummaging through her drawer of underthings. “Now for Draco’s naughty knickers . . . Hey, where’d you get these?“

She was holding up a handful of brightly colored knickers in varying Muggle styles. Ginny rifled through the small pile and looked up at Hermione questioningly.

“My mum gave them to me as a sort of joke present two birthdays ago.” Hermione smiled and blushed at the memory. “She said a young woman needed decent knickers . . .”

“Did she know how you felt about Ron at the time?”

“Oh, I think she knew I was daydreaming about someone, but I never actually told her who it was. Now I’m glad - makes it easier to pretend it never happened. And as far as these go, “ here she gestured to the underthings Ginny had laid out on her bed, “I’d almost forgot I had them . . . never had a reason to wear them.”

“Well, I can think of two off the top of my head. Now pick out a pair to send to Draco, and then another to wear tonight. No, not those - let’s see . . . these. Just,” here she cut off any argument from Hermione, “ _trust me_.”

Hermione penned a quick note to Draco, and used it to wrap a tiny pair of bright blue knickers. It simply said, ‘ _what I won’t be wearing tonight.’_ Ginny promised to send the package off later.

The little white dress was finally donned and Hermione made her way down to meet Harry in the commons. A steady stream of students was coming and going in preparation for dinner, and she looked around for her ‘brother’. Instead she saw Ron. He stood far across the common room by the stairs to the boys’ dorms looking equally surprised, until he took in her outfit. Then his expression turned nasty.

“What, off to another meeting with the Ferret family?” He raised his voice so it carried easily across the room. Several faces turned toward her in curiosity, but she noticed many more looked at Ron with varying degrees of contempt.

She rolled her eyes and, inwardly staring down the nervous presence of the covenant, said in a strong voice, “As soon as I’m able, I’m going to have a good, long talk with you. You’d better start brushing up on defense charms, Mr. Weasley.”

He looked furious, but stayed on the far side of the room. “Because of you I can’t even move freely around this place! You’re making a huge mistake and ruining everything! It’s not too late - you can still fix this, ‘Mione!”

She was relieved when Harry came hurrying down the stairs just then. His hair was damp and even across the wide space she could see mouth-shaped bruises along one side of his neck, but overall, he actually looked quite put together. He glared at his old friend and brushed past him brusquely. “You’re supposed to leave when she’s here.”

“Or what? You’ll tell the Headmaster?” Ron’s face was an unattractive shade of red. _Draco flushes a much handsomer shade._ The random thought made her smile happily to herself. “It’s not funny, ‘Mione!”

Hermione looked at him sharply, but held her tongue. _Oh, just you wait, Mr. Weasley. You’re not going to know what hit you._ She turned toward Harry and drew her robes on over her dress. “Ready?”

The walk across the castle was just what was needed after the run-in with her former crush, and they joined the flow of students headed toward the great hall for dinner. The cool air and brisk pace settled their nerves, and as if by silent agreement neither mentioned the run-in. Harry took the opportunity instead to tease her. “So, you must have something on your face because everyone is staring at you again. It couldn’t possibly be that dress you’re trying to hide under your robes.”

She punched him affectionately in the shoulder, making sure it was just hard enough to hurt a bit. “Shut up, Harry. Perhaps it’s not me they’re looking at - from those bruises on your neck, it looks as though you’ve recently snogged a hippogriff.”

Harry punched her back, albeit much more gently. “Yes, Hermione. All these randy teenage boys don’t notice the sexy witch walking among them because of the hickey-marked wizard at her side. Are we sure you’re the smart one?”

He dropped her off at Professor Dumbledore’s office, promising to pay close attention to his Galleon. The two agreed that Lucius’ mood would determine the length of the visit more so than usual. The room seemed empty when she entered, and she walked quietly to the Headmaster’s desk. There was a blue rose laid on it, Hermione noticed happily. She heard a rustle in the alcove, and turned to see her wizard already sitting in his armchair.

She approached quietly to find Lucius staring out the window with a look of melancholy on his handsome face. The young witch called his name hesitantly. “Lucius?”

He didn’t seem to hear her, so she stepped to the side of the chair and reached out to stroke his head tenderly. “Lucius?”

He sighed and closed his red-rimmed eyes. “Good evening, pet.”

Hermione sat on his nearest thigh and leaned to press her lips to his. “I’ve been thinking about you.” She allowed him to draw her completely onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please talk to me, Lucius.”

She felt him nod against her head. “I apologize for my discourtesy this morning.”

“That’s not what I meant. What upset you then, and why is it still bothering you? Please, please tell me.” Instinctively, she pulled the leather band from his hair and ran her fingers through the thick, pale locks. He sighed again and leaned into her touch.

“I don’t want you to be around the Weasley boy. I don’t want you to talk to him; I don’t want you to be in the same room as him; I don’t even want you to be in the same castle as him.” His voice was rough, as though he’d strained it. _Has he been yelling recently?_

She continued to comb his hair with her fingers and kissed his mouth again. “That sounds a bit unreasonable.”

“Will you obey me in this? Will you do this for me?”

Hermione warred within herself briefly. She wasn’t his child, nor was she a servant, and the idea of obeying him unquestioningly felt slightly demeaning at first thought. And yet he had asked so humbly, it had almost sounded like begging. Surely Lucius Malfoy would only do such a thing for a good reason. She realized she trusted him implicitly, if only because of the way he held her so gently in his arms. _He loves me and wants to take care of me_. “If you will tell me why, and truly talk to me, I will find a way to somehow honor the need behind that demand.”

His body tensed even more under her and he began with obvious reticence, “If I tell you, I would like your word that you will keep my confidence and let me tell Draco in my own time.”

“Agreed.” She kissed his chin and curled into her nook, inhaling the inherent scent of his skin.

He began slowly, “Narcissa Black and I grew up together, and I detested her from the very beginning. She was very beautiful, very shallow, and very cold. Abraxas desired her at an almost inappropriate age, and when it came time to cast stakes, he claimed right of choice. I pleaded with him to search for another Bespoke Witch. The two were . . . very much alike.” Lucius was quiet for a time and Hermione simply waited, playing with his hair and lightly scratching her fingernails over his scalp.

Some minutes later, he began again. “She was not pure by the time she accepted our stake, and she wouldn’t say who had taken her first, only that she had given her heart to one who did not return her love. Abraxas cared little for that; he saw only her great beauty and the advantage of having a wife who brought no inconvenient emotion into his life. 

“Our courtship was one of tolerance; there was no illusion of love. We were wed, Abraxas took her to his chambers, and I did not see her for some weeks, by my own choice. Eventually, though, it became all too obvious that the only way I might ever know the pleasure of a woman’s company was with this snakelike creature - my wife. And it was indeed pleasurable. I became smitten with the idea of her in my bed, and soon bowed to her every whim in order to curry her sexual favor.” 

His voice off, and Hermione fought against the jealousy welling up in her. _She was his wife, and he was lonely. Plus she’s very dead and it doesn’t sound as though he misses her_. She took a deep breath. “Go on, Lucius.”

“This was how I was introduced to the Dark Lord, whom she followed alongside her lunatic sister. The first time she introduced us, I saw her change in his presence - almost bloom - and knew he was her unrequited love. Narcissa was only faithful to the house of Malfoy because of her lover’s rejection, and I felt as though the greater part of me died with that knowledge. 

“That same night I questioned the covenant’s recognition of her as Bespoke, and a strong sense of precognition washed over me; I almost felt the shape of a babe in my arms and heard its quiet cry. I knew without doubt that she was with child, and this little one was her raison d’être.”

He continued, “Of course, Voldemort used her to his advantage, and in the end Abraxas joined the DeathEaters out of pride. I did the same, but for a different reason; I . . . I found I could not be separated from this unborn Malfoy child. My stomach roiled against the dark deeds in which we were supposed to delight, though, and I became a spy for Albus soon after joining.”

“What of Abraxas?” She whispered quietly.

“He was killed in a duel. He realized he’d been played for a fool, and foolishly challenged the Dark Lord to a wand match.”

“And Narcissa?”

“She left the Death Eater ranks for the safety of the unborn child against Voldemort’s wishes. Draco was barely a month old when she returned to his side, and he decried her as a deserter and tortured her viciously as an example to the rest of his followers. She died a slow death at St. Mungo’s, in a cot like the one you were laid in last night.”

They were both silent for some time, although Hermione showered Lucius with warm, gentle touches all the while. Finally, he said tiredly, “I can hear your brain whirring. What is it you want to know?”

She looked at her wizard, taking in his slightly disheveled appearance for the first time. He hadn’t yet shaved, and the stubble had grown into more than this morning’s scratchy shadow. His eyes were red-rimmed. His shirt and outer robes were as immaculate as always, but he had forgone a waistcoat and tie for the first time she could remember. She thought of how rough his voice sounded again. _Red eyes and sore throat - he’s been crying. Good Merlin, my love has been upset this whole day with no one to comfort him._ Then all the clues added up, and she suddenly understood.

Hermione hugged him fiercely and kissed him with all the tenderness in her heart. “My Lucius, I haven’t given any part of myself to anyone else but you and Draco! And certainly not my heart. I won’t do that, ever. I was meant for _you_.”

Lucius’ eyes were closed. He said, “I have waited years for you, and then years more for you to be ready, only to have a similar situation present itself.”

“Your fears are based on faulty logic. For one thing, Ron’s not exactly Dark Lord material,” she countered with a smirk. _I will drag him out of this mooky mood by any means necessary._

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “No, he isn’t.”

Hermione grasped his chin and held his gaze, the same way he did when he wanted her absolute attention. “Furthermore, your wife-to-be is a Gryffindor, and you _know_ what that means.”

“She’s brash and blindly trusting?” There was a small twinkle in his eye, but his mouth was still set in a frown.

“That wasn’t where I was going with that . . .” She kissed him again and felt him smile beneath her lips.

“Perhaps you were going to say that she’s foolhardy and pigheaded?”

She laughed in spite of the insult. “She’s sitting on your lap and trying to lighten your mood, you troll.”

“Then she must be truly Bespoken, because that is exactly what I need at this moment.”

Hermione hid in her nook between Lucius’ jaw and shoulder and said quietly, “She’s fallen in love with you.” And, when she somehow sensed that his mood was still dangerously near maudlin, added, “And she’s wearing ruffled knickers under the dress you gave her.”

Lucius laughed out loud. “You are a _minx_.”

The cloud that had hung over their heads finally dissolved, and she smiled happily. “I understand why you don’t want me to be around Ron, and I respect your feelings. I’d like to find a way to make you happy that doesn’t involved me being locked in a tower for the next week.”

“You really don’t harbor romantic feelings for the wizard, do you?” He didn’t state it like a question at all, and she was relieved. His hand dropped to her knee, fingers sliding under the short hem of her dress to rub small circles on the underside of her thigh. Somehow that spot was connected to her insides, and she felt that coiling, winding feeling begin deep within her abdomen.

“None at all.”

“What would you say to him, if you had the chance to speak?” He had leaned her back over his arm and was speaking against her collarbones. 

Hermione shivered pleasurably against the tickle of his unshaven face. She was having difficulty thinking at the moment, but managed, “I’d tell him what an idiot he’s been, and that I don’t have any idea what I was thinking all those years.”

He moved his attention to the deep neckline of the pretty white dress, speaking into the shallow valley between her breasts. “What else?”

Lucius’ fingers were slowly traveling up her thigh, tracing patterns in her skin and tickling her in the most delightful way. “Mmmmm. That it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d cast a stake along with his brothers, because I still would have chosen you and Draco.”

The back of his hand brushed against one of her nipples and she gave a quiet gasp. It could have been accidental, but she doubted anything Lucius did was unplanned. He kissed her again, and her body eagerly responded, arching into his hand when it brushed against her again. She was having difficulty remembering how to breathe, and desire was beginning to spread through her veins. _Please touch me._ Lucius pulled away to watch her heaving chest and brought his hand to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb across its tightened peak. “So responsive to my touch. I wonder - is this far enough for tonight, my lovely?”

Hermione looked at her wizard through heavy-lidded eyes. The constant push-pull of his thumb on her sensitized nipple was the same action he’d taken against her lip several times in the past few days. _Was this what he was thinking of at the time?_ That coil was in her gut was winding tighter and tighter, and she squirmed in pleasant agony.

He seemed to take her noise and movement as an answer, and murmured, “Perhaps a bit more.”

He dropped his head to follow the curve of her breast, and when he spoke again his mouth moved against her nipple. “Continue, pet.”

The fabric of the dress was thin, and she could feel the shape of every syllable he spoke on her now-hardened nub. “Ooooh. I . . . um . . . I’d tell him that his hands were sweaty, and-” Here Lucius raised his head to look at her with one brow raised inquisitively, and Hermione quickly said with a faint blush, “Don’t stop! I’d tell him that he never made me feel the way you do just by looking at me-- _like that, oh please, just like that!”_

Lucius was running his tongue across her nipple over the dress. Hermione wove her hand through his hair to hold him in place even as he pulled slightly away. He raised his head slightly, looking with dark eyes at the front of her dress. She looked down to see what pleased him - the white fabric was wet and transparent, and her rosy, erect peak was clearly visible. He ducked his head and blew a cool stream of air over it, and Hermione mewled at the sweet torture. Her body was now throbbing with want, and all she could think about was the pressure that had begun building between her legs.

He straightened up to kiss her mouth, swiping his tongue across her lip just as his hand began moving up her leg again under her dress. She opened her mouth to him, giving a little moan at the feel of his tongue sliding against the tip of her own. His hand brushed along her hip, trailing along the edge of her knickers.

“Ruffles, indeed. I wonder. Do they go all the way ‘round?” He pulled away from her mouth to murmur this against her lips. His long fingers followed the ruffled edge over her hip, across the curve of her bottom, and down between her legs. _When did my skin become so sensitive?_ She was trembling with pure pleasure now and having difficulty remembering to breathe. She gasped his name.

Lucius chuckled and turned his ministrations to her throat. His voice took on a dark, dangerous tone. “Such a lovely one you are, making these delightful noises and responding so quickly to my attentions.” His beautiful eyes were as dark as his voice when he raised his head to look at her.

“Please, _please_ don’t tease, Lucius.”

He wrapped his hand around her thigh and lifted it easily away from the other, bending her knee and propping her foot on the arm of the chair. She watched him breathlessly, still laid back over his other arm and held in place by his hand woven into her hair. Now he was kissing her neck again, and his fingers were tracking along the ruffled edge of her knickers near her seam. Back and forth, back and forth his fingertips softly pushed and pulled along the soft flesh. _Unngh. Please._

“Does that please you, my prize?” His voice was a whisper, and she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart.

“Yyyyeeesss.” _If something doesn’t happen tonight, I really am going to spontaneously combust._

His fingers finally moved to the crotch of her kickers, rubbing in long strokes and then pressing gently against the opening of her channel. “Such a wet girl,” he groaned into her mouth just as he pushed his tongue between her lips. His fingers moved in a torturous rhythm over the fabric of her knickers, until Hermione was writhing in his lap. _If this is what it feels like with all my clothes on, I can’t imagine what it will be like without them._

Abruptly, Lucius removed his hand and sat her up in his lap. She looked at him in confusion, and he said in that same, dark voice, “We should not have gone so far tonight, but it would be cruel of me to tease you so without providing relief. Do you know what it is you want, pet? Be specific.”

She opened her mouth to beg like she never had in her life, when suddenly the door to the office flew open and Minerva McGonagall came bursting in.

Hermione’s entire body reacted in incredulous shock. Her movement drew the attention of the interloper toward the alcove and its inhabitants. “You have _got_ to be kidding me!” She turned to her wizard, glaring at him as she quietly hissed, “I will not be left in this state, Lucius!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Lucius, but I require Albus.” The professor looked surprised to see them and then immediately apologetic.

He looked almost amused as he considered the situation. Then he turned his head back toward the door and said in a tone that brooked no argument, “We are in the middle of something, Minerva, and require a few more minutes. _If_ you please.”

Minerva McGonagall, bless her gutter-dwelling mind, seemed to comprehend the situation. She raised her eyebrows and said, “OH. Of course, Lucius. I’ll wait outside. Just . . . do let me know when you’ve . . . finished.”

“And Minerva?” He called out as she was swinging the door shut. “See that the door is closed _completely_.” The professor had the grace to look guilty, and then drew the door shut until the latch caught loudly.

Lucius guided Hermione off his lap to stand between his legs, holding her at arms’ length for a short while. She felt her wizard’s eyes burn over her exposed skin. Suddenly the white dress seemed very short and revealing, and she crossed her arms over her chest awkwardly. _Merciful Circe, he’s just been . . . and now I’m self-conscious?!_ Lucius pulled her hands away. “I’m not done looking yet, my prize. I didn’t get a chance to admire you earlier.”

When he had finished his thorough perusal, he drew her again into his lap. He gathered the frothy fabric in his hands and helped arrange her skirt, running his hands lightly up her legs and sides. _I need him to touch me somewhere, anywhere._

Lucius seemed bent on torturing her with teasing touches and words. So slowly that at first she didn’t notice, he returned her to her former position leaned back over his arm, until she lay looking up at him once again. Hermione found herself wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulder in an attempt to keep him close, and pressing kisses to whatever part of him was closest to her mouth at the time. 

His free hand ran up her leg under her dress hem, watching as the fabric was pushed up to her hip. Hermione shivered and felt herself break out into goose bumps. Finally, he leaned in and spoke against her lips, “Are you cold, my love?”

He continued tickling her skin as he kissed her, assailing her senses with the contrast of the rough wetness of his tongue in her mouth and the warm touch of his fingers up and down her thigh. She felt the last shred of her former self-consciousness slip away, and made a sound of pleasure deep in her throat. Lucius responded by moving his mouth to the edge of her jaw, and then lower along her neck to nibble at her collarbones. Hermione was sure she’d go mad as she realized he had begun his original seduction all over again. _I’m going to kill him, but only after he gives me what I . . . ooooooh._

His fingers traced the décolletage of her dress. She blushed when he sat her up in his lap and watched his fingers slowly rub her nipples back into tight peaks. “Such a pretty dress, pet, although I would sooner take it off you than leave it on.” 

Was she dreaming? Never would Hermione have thought such simple actions could produce such all-consuming sensations. Lucius was kissing her again, only now he changed position so that now he could torture both of her peaks by spreading the fingers of one hand between them. She pushed against his thumb and middle finger, wanting more, at the same time that she continued to wriggle on his lap. He pulled away from her mouth to watch her with burning eyes. There was a heavy thrumming between her legs now, and she whispered almost desperately, “Lucius, _please_.”

He trailed his fingers down to the pushed-up hem of her dress and pulled it up to her stomach, baring the innocent white ruffled knickers completely for the first time. Her wizard groaned, lightly tracing the waistband and then running his fingers up and down her seam as he had before their interruption. Lucius couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the motion of his hand. He seemed to have difficulty swallowing, and his jaw muscles clenched for a moment before he nodded as if to himself. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll gladly give it to you.”

She sighed, eyes closed and blushing but aware that she would most certainly die unless she did what he said. She pushed into the actions of hand and whispered, “I am in agony, Lucius. Please help me find relief from it.”

He groaned and kissed her quickly but deeply and then slid her off his lap. She stood slowly, confused for a moment until he stood as well and forcefully backed her into the windowed wall of the alcove. He looked wild, and Hermione realized this was the side of himself that Lucius had been holding back. _Lucius unchained._

He lifted her up and sat her on the sill, and then pushed her knees apart to stand between them. She was nearly equal to his height in this position, and he didn’t have to lean down quite so far when he kissed her hungrily. His fingers rubbed her nipples until they tightened again, and she squirmed and clamped her legs around his waist, trying to bring him closer. 

He spoke in her ear darkly as his hands acted out his words. “What a lovely thing you are, wrapped around me and begging for release. How would you like to be touched? Do you want soft caresses? Hmm?”

She whimpered, and he continued, “Or perhaps my love prefers a different sort of touch?” Lucius’s fingers tightened around her stiff peaks, plucking and twisting them through her dress.

The coil was winding even tighter within her and she just knew that if Lucius would only let her pull him against her, she could relieve the throbbing in her sex. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and groaned more loudly, “Nnnngh, please!”

His voice was still in her ear. “Do you like that, my sweet? I can think of other things you’d like.”

Lucius dropped a hand to her hip and drew it down her thigh. She protested the sudden neglect of one nipple with a strangled sound and almost immediately felt a different sensation. This one was more powerful, and warmer, and even wet, and when she opened her eyes she realized he was suckling her through her dress. Her hand came up of its own accord to hold him there by the back of his head. 

His free hand was under the skirt of her dress again, moving in slow, broad strokes up and down her thigh. It finally reached the apex of her legs and brushed up and down the wet crotch of her knickers. She tried to push up against his hand. Lucius released his mouth from her breast and stood up to lean his forehead against hers. His voice was deep and rough as he said, “No more teasing.”

He pushed Hermione’s head back against the windowpane and slid a hand under her backside, tipping her hips upward. The other he slid back under her dress and pressed against her mound, with the heel of his palm over her aching clitoris and his fingers pressing into her cleft. Lucius murmured, “Now move against my hand.”

He returned his mouth to one of her fabric-clad nipples, and Hermione realized that the bolder her movements against his palm, the better it felt. The better it felt, though, the more she needed, and soon she was insensate to everything but her need for the coil within her to spring free. She felt herself break out in a light sweat just as she felt a change in the tension within. Tighter, tighter it wound, until she knew instinctively that her orgasm was impending. She heard Lucius’ voice, slightly muffled, and focused on his words. “Come for me, Hermione.”

At that moment she opened her eyes to watch Lucius and saw his mouth still latched to her breast over her dress, which was soaked and transparent from his attentions. The sight of her wizard performing such an intimate act on her body caused her hips to buck against his hand once more and then she came apart, quite literally in his hands. Her whisper was agonized as hitherto unused muscles within her spasmed in relief. “ _Oh. Oh. Oh, Lucius. Lucius_.”

He slipped his hand out from underneath her to wrap it around her, but left the other between them, pressed to the wet fabric covering her sex. Hermione slowly returned to awareness, and Lucius scooped her up and carried her back to their chair. He sat down with her and held her, running his hand over her hair. She had just enough energy to find her nook between his jaw and shoulder, and her eyes closed in contentment. “Was _that_ what everyone’s always talking about. Hmmmmmmm, thank you very much.”

“Never thank me for that, my love. It’s my pleasure.” His voice was still rough and deeper than normal, and Hermione raised her head to look at him. He was still wild-eyed, but she could see that he was working on raising his façade of calm.

_I know he was aroused by everything we just did._ She asked uncertainly, “Do you . . . I mean, aren’t you . . . Shall-”

He interrupted her firmly, looking somewhat regretful. “No. I did this to myself. Will you forgive me?”

Hermione was surprised by the question. “Of course, if you’ll tell me what it was you did wrong.”

Her wizard closed his eyes and pulled her head back down to his shoulder. He began tracing patterns on her back, and she curled both arms around his neck. “I focused on my own selfish desires, instead of thinking about what would be appropriate so shortly after our first kiss. I let go of my self-control.”

“Lucius, I’m not going to forgive you for wanting to touch me those ways. I _liked_ what we just did.” She stroked the back of his neck lightly and added shyly, “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Hermione felt that same rush of confidence that always seemed to come when she was with Lucius. She sat up and teased, “I believe you promised to teach me all kinds of wicked things, and eventually corrupt me. Have you changed your mind, sir?”

Her wizard smiled finally, and she kissed him several times on the corner of his mouth. He seemed to accept her argument, because he replied, “We should really work on your aim, pet.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly until he added, “And that is _all_ we will work on for some time.”

Lucius performed a few silently cast spells and set her to rights as best he could before admitting Minerva back into the office. She found herself in a euphoric, boneless state and sank gratefully into the chair her wizard offered her. The professor made her way to the open door of the Headmaster’s private chambers immediately.

Lucius knelt at her side and spoke in a still-rough voice. “You look ready for bed, my love. Perhaps you should summon Mr. Potter.”

She tipped forward contentedly against his broad shoulder. “Mmmmmmm.”

Minerva returned with Professor Dumbledore at her side. “ . . . And since I cannot find Horace anywhere, and have problems in my own house, this lands squarely in your jurisdiction, Albus. Hermione, I’m headed back to the tower - I’ll escort you back. Come on, I haven’t much time.”

The young witch sighed, wondering how she would possibly be able to walk all that way. She let her head loll on Lucius’ shoulder. “Can’t you carry me?”

He chuckled. “I will walk with you, and that will have to suffice.”

They stood, and he led her to the Headmaster’s desk and the rose she’d noticed earlier. “I believe you asked for this.”

Hermione smiled in delight and reached for it. “Thank you for remembering. The last one you gave me is fad- Ouch!” As she took it from her wizard, her finger was pierced by one of its razor-like thorns. A small drop of blood was already beaded on her skin. “These have ferocious thorns, you know.”

Lucius brought her finger to his mouth and gently sucked the blood from it. “Such a delicate, rare flower must have some means to defend itself from predators,” he murmured as he looked at her tenderly.

_He’s talking about me._ Her heart felt as though it would burst, it was so full of happiness. Still, she needed to set the record straight. “Believe me, Lucius, your rose can take care of itself.”


	33. Monday

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Monday - Morning/Noon

Hermione woke early with a smug smile on her face and a contented hum in her bones. _Now I know what at least part of all the fuss is about._ She hadn’t even dreamed during the night, so sound was her sleep, and now she lay in her bed recalling the details of her time with Lucius. 

Thoughts of their visit, however, eventually led to thoughts of the walk back to the tower with Minerva. No sooner had Lucius chastely kissed her goodnight, than the professor was dragging her up the stone steps and suggesting a breakfast meeting with just the two of them for the following morning. The young witch had immediately seen the gaping jaws of the trap being set for her, and with great relief explained her previously made plans. 

Now, she realized, it might not hurt to ask for help from Harry and his girls. She felt fairly confident they wouldn’t mind running interference by giving Minerva something else to think about for a while. _After all, they’re going to be doing it anyway - might as well get credit for it._ _Heavens to Merlin, I’m becoming quite Slytherin in my thinking._ She felt a small wave of amusement wash over her awareness, and gave a reluctant mental nod to the covenant’s presence. _I’m still not happy with you._

With those thoughts, Hermione set to work getting ready for the day. It was one of those mornings when everything seemed to go her way – the water was the perfect temperature in the shower, her curls dried just the way she wanted, and she didn’t once poke her mascara wand into either of her eyes. In fact, she was so encouraged by this last part that she used a second-level beauty charm to add a bit more makeup and then piled her hair up and secured it with the silver comb. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was pleased with the end result. _Luna was right last Friday - I do look like a princess in disguise._ She dressed in her uniform and went to bother her redheaded friend, who was nearly ready herself. She and Ginny met Harry and Luna in the commons not long after.

Draco was waiting at the base of the Gryffindor staircase, sprawled elegantly on the lowest steps. He stood as they neared him, bowing with an almost-smile over Hermione’s left hand. “Good morning, my lady.” He kept his twinkling eyes locked with hers.

Hermione couldn’t help but swoon a bit, and Draco’s straight face broke into his trademark smirk. He greeted the others, adding to Harry, “We just need to stop at the Headmaster’s office on our way,” 

He’d kept hold of her hand and was now pulling her along and looking down at her. “A rather large bird told me there’s a package waiting for you.”

It was still early enough that the group walked without much conversation. Hermione’s thoughts jumped from her previous evening’s experience to the memory that her wizards talked each night, to the fact that Draco had suggested he and Lucius were comfortable talking to each other about intimate subjects. _How much did Lucius tell Draco about what we did last night?_ She glanced up at her wizard. He was obviously lost in his own thoughts, and by the look on his face, she was sure they were very pleasant. _He could be thinking about anything._ Nevertheless, by the time they arrived at their destination, she was blushing from the roots of her hair to well below the V-neck of her sweater.

The present on Professor Dumbledore’s desk was wrapped as beautifully as the previous ones, but it was huge and heavy, and something inside clunked back and forth within the box. _Definitely not a dress_. Draco seemed to read her mind and said in an undertone near her ear, “Lucius and I agreed we both need a respite from you in lovely gowns.”

She shivered, remembering the burn of his gaze at the Ravenclaw party and the feel of his hands hovering over her skin as he played with her necklace. Her hand went unconsciously to the dragon charm, and Draco smirked knowingly.

He gestured to the box in front of her. “Open it if you like.”

The temptation to rip open the package seemed childish, but she gave in to it when she realized Draco seemed to be waiting for exactly that. Wrapping paper went everywhere, but she took time to spare the silver ribbon, handing it to Draco. “I want you to tie it on me in a minute.”

“You want me to tie you up with this ribbon.”

Her mind was elsewhere as she responded. “That’s not exactly what I said, but-”

Her attention was drawn from the box when Draco took her suddenly by the wrists and wrapped the ribbon around them, gently but effectively restraining her. His pupils had dilated such that his eyes had gone from ocean to night-colored, and he was looking at her with intensity. Suddenly he flinched so hard that Harry and the girls looked up with concern from their post at the doorway. Luna called out, “Everything okay, Draco?”

Hermione knew immediately what had happened - her wizard had been fantasizing about her and the oath he’d taken had just sent him a punishing zap. She looked down at her wrists and the ribbon that was already unraveling from around them, and she _knew_. The awareness of his thoughts was heady, arousing, and the tiniest bit terrifying. She whispered, “You want to . . .”

Draco winced. “No! Yes. I may have thought about it briefly, along with a thousand other things. But I . . . I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. And I’m not some sick fetishist.” He avoided her gaze and looked miserable.

Hermione wrapped her arms around her wizard, mostly to hide her blush. She could feel his heart racing within his chest, and a faint tremor still lingering in his muscles. _That was some zap._ “I had a dream about something like that recently. It was . . . interesting.”

“You’re saying you understand what I was thinking.”

“I’m saying that someday I might not mind being tied up.” She peeked up at him.

Draco grimaced and made a frustrated sound. “This is _not_ how this morning was supposed to go. I was so sure that if I didn’t have to think about what skin you might be baring in a new dress all day, and that if we spent breakfast surrounded by others, that I could keep my thoughts circumspect at least until lunchtime. But I should have known that wasn’t going to happen when I got _these_ last night.”

Draco’s hand went into the front pocket of his trousers and pulled out the tiny pair of bright blue knickers she’d had Ginny send him. He held them in front of her face, dangling them by the ties that held the sides together. “You, Miss Granger, are a mistress of torture.”

She gave him an apologetic look that quickly morphed into a mischievous grin. “So, you liked my present?”

“Not funny, Hermione.” He was trying to look at her sternly, but his eyes kept straying to the knickers in his hand. “Yes, immensely. Unfortunately, I will spend the entire day distracted by this impossibly small scrap of fabric.”

“If you didn’t want the distraction, you probably shouldn’t have taken them with you this morning.” She bit her lip to keep from smirking and held out her hand. “Would you like me to take them back?”

Draco snatched the knickers out of her reach and returned them to his pocket. He pulled her into his arms none too gently and held her against him by her hips, so that she felt his erection. His expression was a combination of humor and vexation as he growled, “This is all your fault, little witch.”

Her body responded immediately, and the sated feeling with which she’d woken up began to ebb. “It’s no worse than what you’ve been doing to me recently, Draco!” She whispered in exasperation. “You’re torturing me just as much!”

With a heavy sigh, his frustrated attitude shifted to one of remorse. He let go of her hips and wrapped his arms around her tenderly. “I’m _sorry_ , Hermione. But I cannot put you in a compromising position. We’ll eventually find time to ourselves.”

“Well,” she offered even as she fought another blush, “when you’re ready to stop being so _circumspect_ , perhaps we can make it up to each other.” Without looking up at him, she escaped his embrace, heaved the enormous box into her arms, and fled to the safety of her friends.

/ / / / / / / / / /

She was immensely grateful for the company of Harry, Ginny, and Luna, although her ‘brother’ chose to walk with Draco a few paces ahead of the girls on the way to the great hall. Hermione vaguely broached the subject of distracting Minerva, and while Ginny seemed purposefully clueless of Hermione’s mostly implied request, Luna was downright enthusiastic. At the doors, she broke away from her friends to follow her wizard to the Slytherin table. There, the two of them shared a secret, blushing smile.

Breakfast among Slytherins turned out to be quite different than eating at her own table. For one thing, an air of refinement prevailed. Food was passed politely, conversation was pleasant, and no one hurried to be done and gone. She quickly realized there was no Slytherin equivalent of Ron, at least in this group, and was pleased. 

One quick glance from this new vantage point to her usual spot at the Gryffindor table had given her quick insight to Draco’s mind. He had sat there in that same spot for years, watching her eat and laugh with her friends, and hoping she’d glance up at him eventually. Her heart was stricken with a fierce grief for her wizard’s loneliness for one split second. The feeling slowly faded, to be replaced with a feeling in her heart that she could only describe as love. Hermione reached her hand to hold Draco’s under the table, and he squeezed it back. She noticed that, even from the back, Ron looked like a pig as he devoured his food.

Vince and Greg sat across from them and Vaisey on Draco’s other side. Conversation revolved mainly around the upcoming Quidditch match between the English and Welsh National teams. There had been a subtle changing of seats when Pansy Parkinson arrived in the Great Hall and began making her way to the table, preventing her from being anywhere near them. Now she sat some ways down across from Draco and alternated between staring at him fixedly and casting dirty looks at Hermione. She struggled against the urge to crawl into Draco’s lap and make her claim on him clear. 

Eventually she found a somewhat innocent compromise, feeding her wizard a bite of a sticky bun and chastely kissing the frosting from the corner of his mouth. Draco was almost ridiculously pleased by the action, and in return gave her a lingering kiss. He tasted like icing and cinnamon, and she completely forgot about their audience until they pulled apart. Then, blushing, she hid her head against his shoulder while he calmly talked with Greg and Vince about their next class. Draco’s hand, still clasped in hers, moved to her upper thigh meanwhile, and Hermione pretended not to be affected by the heavy masculine weight of his hand resting in such a place.

When Harry eventually turned around in his spot at the Gryffindor table to give them a five-minute warning towards the end of the meal, Draco reminded her of her gift. His excitement was obvious. “Open it, please?”

Hermione smiled at his boyishness. She glanced at the students around them, hoping it wasn’t the sort of present better opened in private. The box had been sealed shut with a strong Sticking Charm, and she eventually was able to focus long enough to get it open. Inside, under layers of silver tissue, there was a large tome - and not just any tome. It was her _favorite_ Transfigurations reference work; a rare, definitive text she had come to love in her time at school. The young witch turned in shock to the wizard at her side. “This is . . . how did you . . . oh, my goodness, I . . .”

Draco grinned at her. “You were reading the school copy when I met you for our second library date. It was clear how much it meant to you.”

“But how did you find it? I’ve been saving for years on the off chance a copy would come up for sale. They’re incredibly hard to find. Thank you, Draco!”

He looked smug. “It would have been yours eventually. Let’s just say that the backup plan to woo you was to invite you to the library at the Manor.”

At the mention of her favorite _L_ word, Hermione’s eyes glazed over and she bit her lip to keep from drooling. Draco laughed softly. “Only you would find that word a turn-on. Not that I’m complaining,” he added quickly.

She ran her hands over the enormous book reverently and dropped her head to inhale the exotic smell of ancient leather mixed with magic. This elicited a round of laughter from the wizards closest to them. Grimacing, she looked up apologetically. “Sorry, but it’s probably the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“It weighs more than you. Perhaps your wizard should have added a Levitation Charm as part of the package.” Greg Goyle beamed at her before rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Draco in a disappointed manner.

Vince Crabbe added teasingly, “It’s almost her size as well - what were you thinking, Draco - expecting her to carry that thing around all day? The least you could have done was shrunk it.”

Reduce its familiar weight?! Shrink its perfect size?! Hermione was horrified at these ideas. “No one touches my present! I _like_ it big and heavy, and I’m not letting it out of my hands!” The moment the words came out of her mouth, she groaned and dropped her head against the tome. “Not what I meant, boys.”

It was too late. Vince and Greg, along with Vaisey and anyone else within hearing distance, roared with laughter. Vaisey leaned to look around Draco. “Don’t worry, love - we wouldn’t dream of touching your _present_.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and was about to put him in his place when Pansy stood up noisily, causing the bench on the far side of the table to screech across the stone floor. The brunette witch made a noise of deep disgust and looked over the now quiet group disparagingly. “This is only to be expected now that you’re _dallying_ with . . . _commoners._ ” 

She paused over the word ‘commoners’, and Hermione knew exactly what word she was implying. Draco, who had been blushing and smirking at his friends’ good-natured teasing just moments before, looked shocked. He stood, drawing Hermione against his side. “There is no _dallying_ going on, Pansy, nor is there any commoner in our midst. I think you should go.”

As the Slytherin witch flounced away angrily, Draco turned to her in concern. Hermione dismissed it with a roll of her eyes. “Honestly, Draco, I’ve been called worse. If a bit of name calling and feeble implication is all she’s capable, I’m not exactly frightened. Besides, she didn’t even have the nerve to address me. I’ve met scarier pet rats.”

Her wizard wasn’t convinced. “I don’t want her hurting you, either with her own words or the rumors she causes to go around.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his implication. “Have I ever been the sort of witch who cares about what other people think? Besides, if _your_ friends don’t believe her, and _my_ friends don’t believe her, what does it matter? Your concern is appreciated, Draco, but entirely unnecessary.” 

It really was time to go. She squeezed his hand one more time before she made her way to Harry, calling back over her shoulder, “See you at lunch!”

The walk to the DADA classroom was quiet as she pondered her wizard’s puzzling view of her. _He thinks I need to be protected from Pansy Parkinson, but he’s more bothered by her antics than I am_ . _Surely he knows what I’m capable of doing - the war made my skill set common knowledge. I think it’s Draco who needs protecting from that bitch more so than I._ But how could she protect him without insulting his inherent need to do the same for her? Hermione’s brain whirred and spun, seeking solutions. 

As she walked with Harry through the halls, many students looked at her curiously, and a good number waved or called out a friendly greeting. She returned the smiles and waves much as Lucius had modeled for her on Saturday, maintaining courtesy regardless of her personal feelings. She also made sure to return all waves with her left hand - after all, she was done hiding the beautiful dragon mark.

Inwardly, she reached out to the faint flicker of the covenant’s presence as she pondered the twin troubles of Ron and Pansy. She didn’t regard either of them with enough respect to warrant concern, but she did need to take into account her wizards’ overprotective attitudes. _I’d really like to focus on visits and kisses and . . . then some . . . this week, rather than disgruntled idiots. But they’re not going anywhere until someone makes them. Are you ready to admit it should be me?_ The little sentience was quiet, and Hermione decided to take this as a sign that it was thinking about her words.

She was pleasantly surprised by the events of the morning. Within ten minutes of her arrival at class, the DADA instructor was knocked unconscious when one of his spells was repelled by an adept student. The rest of the two-hour class period was led by Hermione, who pulled rank and put the rest to work with practical drills. Her classmates agreed that it was the best Defense lesson of the year, hands down.

She had Advanced Transfiguration next, and Minerva picked her up at the DADA doorway, not even bothering to check on her colleague. Instead she rolled her eyes and said, “Hermione, when you’re ready to think about career options, please don’t rule out teaching. You’d make a fine addition to the Hogwarts faculty, and Albus and I would hire you without hesitation.”

She had a brief but vivid mental image of working with wand-wielding, incompetent teenagers and a certain sex-crazed Transfigurations professor. “Oh, thank you, Minerva. You know, I just don’t know if I’m cut out for teaching. But I’ll keep it in mind.”

Advanced Transfigurations was a frustrating class for Hermione. Its main focus was Human Transfiguration, which was something for which she didn’t seem to have the aptitude. This in itself was enough to make her decide it was a waste of time, but Minerva’s expectations remained high. Therefore, Hermione kept working at it.

Recent rumor was that an eighth year student had attained full Human Transfiguration, and was even now being prepared to register with the Ministry as an Animagus. Today the gossip was that the student had been invited to Transfigure before this very class, but had declined without explanation. Hermione had run through a list of her peers whom she considered to be competent enough to achieve such a result, and then decided there was little to no chance the story was true. If she herself found this discipline too difficult, who else would be able to do it?

Eventually, she tired of going through the motions of repeated failure, and sat down at her desk to rework a particularly interesting Arithmancy problem of her own making. There were several possible outcomes, and she had plotted out each one meticulously by the time class was done. She met Harry outside the door and they joined the lunch-bound traffic. Talk was limited, mostly due to Hermione’s heavy burden. Although she’d rather die than admit it, the tome really needed to be Shrunk and Levitated. They had finally passed into the entrance hall when Hermione ground to a sudden stop by the far wall. “Wait!”

Harry looked back over his shoulder and, realizing she was no longer beside him, hurried back to her side. She handed off the enormous Transfigurations tome to him and began digging in her bag desperately. Finally she stood again, hands full. “Got it! This will only take a second. Here, will you . . . yes, like that.”

Hermione arranged Harry so that he bent forward at the waist and set a piece of parchment on his back. She rifled through her bag again and came up with her ink and quill. “Hermione, you can do this in the great-”

“Quiet! This is extremely important!” The curly-headed witch leaned over her impromptu desk and began scribbling on the parchment, scolding Harry when he squirmed.

“Sorry, ‘Mione, but it tickles! What on earth are you doing?”

“Adding to one of my Arithmancy equations before I forget.” She worked feverishly for several more seconds. Then, giving a sigh, she performed a Drying Spell on the parchment, returned it to her bag, and allowed Harry to straighten up. She was just putting away her ink and quill when she was bumped rather roughly from behind, causing her hands to fly in front of her face in a protective gesture. Her quill, which was still wet, stayed in her grasp and effectively slapped her in the forehead, and she felt the splatter of her favorite magical green ink all over her face.

“Oh, I’ve done it again! I’ve covered myself in magic ink! _Harry, help!_ ” 

He looked at her helplessly, shifting the heavy Transfigurations book in his arms. “I’m not sure what you want me to do. Remember last time?” 

Hermione looked around her, curious who had needed to be so far from the great hall doors that they had bumped into her. There, walking away and casting an innocent glance over her shoulder, was Pansy Parkinson. Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered to herself, “ _Really_ , Pansy! I steal the wizard of your dreams, and that’s the best you can do? _Ink_?!”

Harry gave his friend a sympathetic look. “Well, after lunch we can go find Professor Slughorn and get some of that Ink-Dissolving Potion from him. At least we know he keeps it in stock.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

He grinned. “You’re only worried about what Draco will think, and we both know he’ll find it attractive in some strange way. Come on, let’s go fill our plates before Ron makes everything look unappetizing.”

Harry was right, of course - Hermione had spent the better part of the past eight years covered in some academically-acquired mess, and she really wasn’t fazed by the idea of magically sparkling green ink-freckles, _except_ . . . She sighed, but squared her shoulders and prepared to face her wizard.

To his credit, Draco barely batted an eyelash. He stood from his spot near Luna as Hermione approached the Gryffindor table and beamed humorously at her. “Miss Granger, you have a certain sparkle about you this afternoon.”

She grimaced as they sat down. “I know. I had a run-in with my inkpot outside the great hall.”

Harry added, “You mean _Pansy_ had-”

“It was my own fault - I practically set up the whole catastrophe!” Hermione quickly corrected.

Draco glanced toward the Slytherin table, where Pansy sat nearby with her back to them, but only said, “Why was your ink out of your bag?”

“I had a sudden thought about-” she leaned in to say quietly, “That is to say, I’m making a case for talking with you-know-who by using Arithmancy. I think if I can plot out all the variables and run the equations, I might be able to make some diagrams to show Lucius how safe it will be to let me talk with . . . _him_. Where is he, by the way?”

“Exiled to the far end with the firsties; Ginny sent him down there straight away.” He returned to their previous conversation. “Hermione, don’t you think it’s rather foolhardy to approach Arithmancy with an assumed result in mind? You’ll be skewing the results.”

Hermione frowned. _This is the downside of having an intelligent husband-to-be_. “I think I know a thing or two about the subject.”

Draco started to say something but Luna interrupted him abruptly, which was very unlike the sweet blonde witch. She proceeded to recount a long and convoluted anecdote from her last Advanced Divination class, finishing up by saying, “So it’s obvious, I think, that the shape my tea leaves took is analogous to the figure of the dog in my dreams. Don’t you see? And Sybil says it’s an omen of something to happen soon.”

Ginny smirked into her hand when Hermione added with mock sincerity, “Of course she does.” 

Luna looked at her, and suddenly those dreamy blue eyes were clear and sharp. “Only the dog can defeat its master.”

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Harry turned to his blonde lover with mild concern, and the odd look faded from Luna’s eyes as quickly as it had appeared. Draco looked at her with such a contemplative look that Hermione wondered what exactly he was thinking. 

The conversation followed a much lighter course after that. Arithmancy and Divination were forgotten, and Hermione spent the rest of lunch laughing along with her friends and watching Harry with his girls. It was clear he adored them, and that the three of them complemented each other. _Luna was certainly acting odd just now, even for her. Hmmm . . . How lucky Harry and I are to have found such love._ As if he could read her thoughts, Draco reached over and twined his fingers with hers. “You _are_ going to get that off your face before Lucius sees you, right?”

“Yes, of course. Harry said he’ll go with me to get some of Professor Slughorn’s Ink Dissolving Potion right after this – we both have a free period Mondays after lunch.”

“I’ll be on my way to Advanced Potions. We can walk together - Harry, my little green-speckled witch, and I.” His eyes danced, but otherwise he remained straight-faced.

There was a pause in conversation as the lunch plates were magically cleared from the table and dessert replaced the main dishes. Just then Pansy raised her voice as she spoke to the witch beside her. “Vesta, do I have anything on my face? No? You’re sure? Thank you – I’d be so embarrassed to walk around like a little first year with ink-spots.”

Hermione laughed outright, protesting when Draco looked upset, “No, really - that was quite funny!” Then, in an undertone as she served them both a small bowlful of trifle, she added, “It’s a very silly game she’s playing, but the more upset you get, the more she wins. Just ignore her, Draco.”

He nodded reluctantly and then looked at her appraisingly. “You know, for a Gryffindor, you have a surprising streak of calculative cunning.”

“Yes, well, that Hat had different plans for me originally, but I made a good argument.” Hermione ran her finger around the edge of her bowl, gathering the rich pudding on her fingertip.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s between me and the Hat. Maybe someday, if you’re good, I’ll tell you. Mmmmm – vanilla.” She raised her finger to her mouth to lick off a bit of the sweet dessert, and just like that the mood changed from pleasantly conversational to electrically charged. Draco’s eyes dropped to half-mast as his mouth unconsciously mimicked the movements of her own. Hermione sucked on her finger slowly before pulling it out with an audible _pop_ . _Last week I wanted to lick this stuff off his face and . . ._ She blushed but held his gaze.

Draco reached across her to dip a spoon into Hermione’s bowl. He swirled the spoon through the thick substance before pulling it out and bringing it to the level of her face. With dark eyes, he whispered, “Open for me.”

And when she finally released the emptied spoon from between her lips and swallowed slowly, he was breathing as if he’d run a footrace.


	34. Monday

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Monday Afternoon

  
  


Firstly, the beautiful Transfigurations tome was shrunk down to a more manageable size at Draco’s insistence. Then they set off for the Potions classroom, where the ink was removed quickly, thanks to his presence. Professor Slughorn had nearly tripped on his own feet in his haste to please his favorite student, and was exceedingly polite to her as well. On their way out of the classroom, Harry joked that it was his turn to feel snubbed by the man.

Draco requested a few extra minutes in the corridor to see her off, and the professor eagerly agreed. Harry good-naturedly wandered around the corner into the main hallway, and her wizard promptly pulled her into a fierce, long embrace. _He acts as though we’re going to be apart longer than just a few hours._ _Not that I’m complaining._ His long arms eventually loosened and he slouched down and tilted his head to bring himself closer to her level. “I’ll see you tonight.” His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke the words quietly.

Hermione shivered from the sensation and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Which is in just a few short hours, Draco.”

He pulled her against him by her hips and whispered, “They won’t seem so short to me. I’ll be thinking about the things I’m going to do to you tonight, little witch.”

As if the heat of his breath on her ear lit a flame within her, Hermione was instantly on fire. Now he was running his lips along that sensitive spot under her ear. “Draco, mmmmmm . . . that was just . . . that was just . . . _mean_.”

He pulled back and smirked triumphantly at her. “That was for sending me the knickers.”

The curly-headed witch tried to shake off the fog of desire that was clouding her mind. _Two can play at this game. I just need to remember how to focus._ “I promise not to send another pair later tonight, then.”

Draco pulled back abruptly with an expression of solemn shock on his face. “Never make rash decisions about such important things, Hermione.”

“Then behave yourself, Draco.” She returned his previous smirk with an even greater degree of triumph. _Winning isn’t nearly as fun with soggy knickers._

He held his hands up in surrender and leaned in for one last kiss. “Slughorn has probably already started class -- I’ll see you tonight.” Draco executed a shallow bow and left her in the hall.

Hermione walked the few steps back toward Harry in the main dungeon hallway. She paused when she heard footsteps and peeked cautiously around the corner when she heard him say, “What are you doing down here right now, Ron?”

She pulled back enough that she was hidden in the dark of the smaller corridor. Ron looked startled to see his old friend. “Nothing! Meeting someone! None of your business!” 

“Well which is it?” Harry didn’t sound exactly friendly, but he didn’t sound as though he wanted to pick a fight, either. 

Ron countered, “Aren’t you supposed to be playing watchdog to ‘Mione?” He looked up and down the dungeon hall. He turned to Harry. “Errrrr, we need to talk later. Are you free tonight?”

“What could we possibly have to talk about, Ron?” Harry looked almost anguished to Hermione’s eyes, and his voice had a pleading quality to it.

“I need to make things right. Meet me in the Owlery right after last class?”

“I can’t – I’ll be—“

Ron looked a bit desperate. “I stood by you through a lot, Harry. This is a small thing for me to ask in return. After dinner. Owlery. Be there.” He seemed to catch sight of something far beyond her, judging by his squint. “I have to go . . . do something.”

Ron took off down the corridor without waiting for an answer, not seeming to notice her in the shadows. Then he was gone, and Harry was coming around the corner toward her, and for one brief moment Hermione was quite sure she heard the high-pitched barking of a small dog.

The two friends made their way out of the dungeons, deciding to spend the remainder of their free time outside. Harry suggested the courtyard, and Hermione readily agreed. It would be a perfect place to work on her calculations in peace while Harry napped in the sun.

She was surprised by how many upperclassmen seemed to be there at the same time, until someone approached them with the news that some of Hagrid’s beasts had gotten loose during class. Apparently the imminent danger to the student population was enough that all students had been sent to the confines of the castle until further notice. That meant several entire classes were now free to wander the school for a while.

Instead of napping, Harry chatted with anyone and everyone nearby, and eventually Hermione realized that her hopes of a quiet work time were in vain. She finally stowed her parchment, ink, and quill back in her schoolbag and resigned herself to socializing. It was a shame, too – this Arithmancy project was the first non-academic intellectually stimulating problem she’d been interested in so far this year, and it might be just the thing to convince Lucius to let go of his anxieties regarding Ron.

The silver lining of the crowded courtyard came in the form of Astoria Greengrass, who called out to her from a nearby bench. The blonde witch waved Hermione over, and after getting Harry’s attention, she went willingly to sit with her new friend.

“Astoria! How was your weekend?” 

The Ravenclaw gave her a delighted smile and hug. “Wonderful! Theo and Nick are learning shibari! We practiced all weekend at the Nott Manor.” She sighed in a contented manner.

“Errrr . . . shibari? I’m sorry, I don’t know what—“

Astoria smiled happily. “Rope bondage! Oh, Hermione, it’s _so_ erotic. And just yesterday Theodore said I’ve been such a good girl that he’s going to add—“

“No, really – that’s quite enough information, Astoria!” Hermione shook her head to manually clear it. “I mean, I’m really happy you’re happy, and I don’t need to know the exact reason.” _Great and merciful Merlin, I’d forgotten so quickly . . ._

Her new friend smiled apologetically. “Sorry! I keep forgetting you’re such a Gryffindor! But honestly, Hermione – didn’t you ever, just _once_ , wonder what it would be like to—“

“Nope! Let’s talk about the weather.” And they did just that, as only two scholarly people can do – they analyzed wind pattern, cloud formation, humidity, and projected dew point, until finally Hermione’s mind was once again cleared of the horrific images painted by Astoria’s few words. She finally offered up, “I suppose your classes have pretty much wound down by now. I know mine have – no real reason to attend at all, really.”

Astoria nodded in agreement. “It’s true. The only noteworthy thing that’s happened in the past week was in Advanced Divination, when a housemate of mine had some remarkable readings and correlating waking dreams about a dog. It was quite remarkable, actually. I’ve never seen Professor Trelawney so disturbed by such an event.” She added as an afterthought, “Excepting ones to do with the Dark Lord, of course.” 

_Luna was talking about something similar when she went all funny. Curious_ . _I wonder if all Ravenclaws have a fatal attraction to Divination. Or dogs._ Out loud, Hermione said politely, “How interesting. Oh – what do you think of applying Arithmancy principles to a predetermined outcome? Because I’m working on . . .”

Astoria was really an ideal conversation partner, aside from talk of her deviant sexual proclivities. With the right style of topic management, she was without doubt one of Hermione’s favorite people with whom to chat. And chat they did – in fact, Harry had to physically drag her away from the blonde witch in the middle of a fascinating discussion about the socioeconomic implications of employing house elves. Harry was less than sympathetic to her complaints. “You don’t want to be late to Arithmancy, do you?”

That shut her up. She called a quick goodbye to Astoria over her shoulder as she was hurried away. Harry looked at her in puzzlement as he dragged her along. “Astoria Greengrass, ‘Mione? I know she’s another future House Wife and all, but . . . word has it she is one kinky witch. What could you two possibly have in common?”

“Besides a love of school and a passion for learning? Harry, when I keep her away from the topic of sex, she’s like talking to . . . to _myself._ ”

“Except I’ve heard she’s not at all like you. She _couldn’t_ be – not to end up bespoke for the Nott house.”

“Believe me – I get that. I’ve dubbed them the Notties. But she’s erudite and well spoken. There aren’t many people like that around here. No offense, Harry.”

He grinned and nodded in an understanding way. “None taken. I guess it must get lonely sometimes, going to school with us mere mortals. I’m glad you have her as a friend. Just don’t . . .”

“Develop a sudden fetish for bondage and orgies? You have nothing to worry about there. And thanks for looking out for me. You’re a great ‘brother’.”

They’d reached the Advanced Arithmancy classroom at this point. Harry had a conflicted look on his face as he said, “Errr, Ron asked me to meet up with him after class. I asked a few of our friends to get a message to Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster, asking one of them to send a proxy chaperone.”

“This had better turn out differently than last Wednesday.” They both frowned at the memory of Professor Vector’s less than helpful role that day. Hermione went on, “I overheard you talking with him in the Dungeons. What is it he wants to set right, Harry? And why was he down in the Dungeons again when he should have been out with Hagrid? Class had barely started.”

He looked at her with a mystified expression. “Haven’t a clue on either count, but he’s right – we’ve been through a lot together, and I owe him.”

As Harry began walking away down the hall, Hermione called out to him, “You don’t owe him anything, Harry!”

Advanced Arithmancy was a small class of highly focused students. Professor Vector had extremely high expectations of each of them, and taught intensely at a furious speed. Today, however, she gave them the class period to work on their final assignment, which was due on the last day. Hermione had finished hers some time ago, and so she pulled out her current project instead. 

She refined a few calculations and cast a Projection Spell to show her diagrams on the blank classroom wall used for that purpose. Something wasn’t quite right, and after numerous minute adjustments, Hermione approached her teacher.

“Professor Vector, would you be willing to look at a diagram of mine?” She hastened to add, “Since I’ve already handed in my final project, I’m working on one of my own making.”

Vector looked intrigued and followed the curly-headed witch to the projection wall. She looked over the crisscross of colored lines thoughtfully and then Conjured two chairs. Sinking into one, she motioned for Hermione to do the same. “I see you haven’t labeled your subject and input variables. Why am I looking at such a secretive diagram, Miss Granger?”

Hermione was prepared for the question. “I don’t want to influence your interpretation, Professor.”

“That is an interesting choice. Very well, my main concerns are these two lines. They run parallel, yet one seems to influence the other. It looks as though the factor represented by the fainter line could move in a different direction in another scenario. What do you make of this?”

The young witch waved the suggestion away. “Those two factors have nothing to do with each other, I’m certain. And this is the correct scenario.” The lines in question represented Ron and Pansy, of course. _Those two are beginning to irritate me even when they’re not here._

“I would run through alternative calculations, nevertheless. This almost looks as if you’ve begun calculations with a predetermined outcome in mind.”

Hermione realized the Professor was reiterating Draco’s exact words from earlier. _Why does no one else see this the way I do?_ She kept her frustration to herself, however, and thanked the professor for her insight. After that, she lost interest in her work, choosing instead to daydream about her upcoming visits with her wizards. Her thoughts spiraled out of control rather quickly, and by the end of class she was a foggy-headed, lust-addled mess.

No one was there to meet her right after class. When the last student had left, she waited another ten minutes before turning hesitantly to her teacher to ask for help. She turned away quickly. Clearly the professor had reached the same conclusion, and was unhappy with it.

Vector frowned. “Miss Granger, I was not hired to ferry students about, regardless of their future socioeconomic status. You may walk with me as far as the entrance hall, and then you will find someone else to escort you.”

A feeling of déjà vu passed over Hermione. She sighed, thanking the professor and following her out of the classroom. They walked in silence and reached a very empty entrance hall. “I will wait with you for ten minutes. It just so happens I have some parchment to grade.”

Professor Vector settled onto a bench and Transfigured her hat into a small lap-desk. Without acknowledging Hermione’s presence again, she set to work. The young witch wandered the entrance hall rather aimlessly for a short time until her attention was drawn by a scuffling noise coming from the staircase to the dungeons. She approached the dark opening curiously. There, a few steps down, stood a roly-poly little dog with great brown eyes, a smooshed-up sort of nose, and a lolling tongue. It crouched playfully at her, wagging its tail, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile. 

For the first time that day, the covenant made its presence known within her. She felt the shimmering sensation of its emotion wash over her, but the feeling was unknown to her. _If you’re trying to tell me something, you’re going to have to do better than that._ Hermione promptly dismissed it, turning her attention back to the dog. She knelt down and stretched out a hand. “Here, puppy,” she called softly. “What are you doing in the castle? Come here.”

The little dog only wagged its tail harder and made an eager, whining noise that propelled Hermione toward it down the first few stairs. She lowered herself to sit on the step near the animal. It pounced up to her, letting her run her hands over its soft tan and black fur while it nosed about the pockets of her robe. The sentient presence of the covenant rippled uneasily. _Oh, for Merlin’s sake – it’s just a pug! I’m quite good with animals – just calm down._

Suddenly it froze for a second, then jumped back and looked at her in almost human like triumph. In its mouth it held a long, slender object. Hermione scolded it firmly, “Hey! That’s my wand! Give it back, you!”

The dog retreated playfully, then turned and began making its way down toward the dungeons. Hermione looked back toward the entrance hall. Technically, there was no doorway, so she was still in the same room as her chaperone. That pins-and-needles feeling spread over her brain, but she began to head after the dog, all the while arguing with the now-panicking covenant. _For Circe’s sake! You weren’t very clear about what was going to happen, were you! We need to learn to communicate better so the next time you know a dog plans to steal my -_

Hermione never finished the thought. As she rounded the first corner of the dungeon hallway, two things happened almost simultaneously. She was hit with a wave of vertigo stronger than any before, sending her crashing to the floor, and the little dog reappeared and bit her fiercely in the ankle.

  
  
  
  
  



	35. Monday Afternoon/Evening

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Monday - Late Afternoon/Evening

Hermione woke on a stone floor in a dark, cold place. She was disoriented, but remembered almost right away that she’d been heading toward the dungeons to get her wand back. _So chances are that‘s where I am, and I don’t have my only source of light . . . or defense._

Pansy had obviously lured her down here using the little dog, and that spoke of a certain amount of desperation. _Surely she knows this won’t exactly work in her favor with the Malfoy wizards._ Thoughts of Lucius and Draco bolstered her spirits and made her think of the covenant. She reached out mentally in search of the little shimmering presence. _Please don’t panic, but obviously we’re in trouble. It’d be nice if you could help me somehow._ A feeling of nervous resignation washed over her, and it wasn’t her own.

She stood slowly, wincing at a deep, sharp pain in her right ankle. Touching it cautiously revealed what seemed to be a wet, jagged gash that was already swelling under her ruined sock, and she remembered being bitten by the dog. _Oh, perfect. I wonder if witches can get rabies._ The fact that the blood was wet was a good sign – it marked a short passage of time since she’d passed out.

The young witch stretched out her arms and found a wall. Using it as support, she limped forward cautiously until she hit a corner. Along the next wall, she stumbled over what felt like the huge broken frame of a wooden chair. _This could function as a weapon of sorts._ It was really too heavy for her to even carry, but she dragged it along awkwardly as she continued exploring the dark cell. At first she tried to keep as quiet as possible, but soon gave that up. The chair frame made a racket, but it was too potentially useful to scrap. _Besides, if I’m in the dungeons, these walls are incredibly thick_ . _Not much noise will filter through from either side._ On she went for a long time in search of a door until her hand brushed against a heavy hinge. The door was locked, of course. Hermione hobbled to the other side of it and settled down against the floor. Whoever had locked her in here would return eventually. 

In due course, Hermione lost track of time, and hours seemed to pass as the cold and silence seeped into her bones. She leaned against the broken chair beside her. _What have I done? Will Professor Vector think I found a suitable chaperone and left on my own terms? How soon will they know to look for me?_ Finally, with a sound of groaning hinges, the door was pushed open and torchlight flickered into the room. She was so disoriented by the brightness that, for a moment, she thought she saw Ron coming through the door. She blinked several times.

It _was_ Ron, and he was peering around the dim room, wand raised defensively. “Ron! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank Merlin it’s you! Pansy Parkinson is crazy, and we need to get out of here!”

The redhead looked at her stupidly for a moment, then smiled in a not-so-very-nice way. Realization dawned on her. “You _idiot!_ What have you _done_?!”

“Stop calling me that! I was smart enough to get you to come down here, wasn’t I? Why do you just assume Pansy did all the brainwork?” His face was darkly flushed down past his collar, and in the bright flickering light of the torch Hermione could see he had a raised rash along his cheeks. Still pointing his wand at her, he moved to drop the torch into the wall-sconce near the door.

“You’re working _together_ ?! This is _unbelievable_! This is so like you, Ron – you always find a smart girl to do the hard parts for you!”

He scratched his head fiercely. “What are you talking about?”

“You used my brain as your personal assistant for _years_ , and now you’re doing the same to Pansy Parkinson!”

“She’s nothing like you, ‘Mione!” Ron reached down to his knee and itched at it in the same way he’d done to his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She showed me her tits, for one thing.” His face twitched as if he had an itch, and he scrabbled at one rashy cheek, then the other.

“That is just . . . you’re a _pig_ , Ronald.” _And a rashy, itchy pig, at that._

“And you’re a frigid cow. I wasn’t even sure you were really female until last week.” His eyes traveled from her face down to her chest, and Hermione was extremely grateful to be wearing her uniform and robes. The covenant gave a roll of revulsion.

She crossed her arms in front of her and angled her body away from his leer. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.” Hermione sighed. “We need to talk, Ron. But first you need to let me go.” She waited for the covenant to physically manifest its intense dislike of this idea, but only a trace feeling of vertigo washed over her. It felt almost like a warning. _I promise to stay as far away from him as possible._

“I don’t think I will. See, by being here without a chaperone, you’re in violation of traditional courtship rules. Do you know what that means, ‘ _Miss Granger’_?”

She didn’t, and she said so.

Instead of answering her right away, he continued, _“And_ you’ve eloped with a member of a rival family.” He scratched at his left ear.

“I’ve done no such thing!”

“You’re here with me, aren’t you? Well, then! Do you know what that means by the most ancient laws?” Ron looked very confident, and Hermione was instantly suspicious. _He knows something I don’t know. Something I should have known. And why is he so itchy and twitchy? Mother of magic, if I had my wand . . ._

Out loud she said, “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

He looked very smug. “Have you been marked?”

This non sequitur threw her off balance. “Errr, what?”

“Didn’t think so. Pansy was right – the Ferret family’s been taking things slow with you. You’re here without a chaperone, with a rival family member, and you don’t bear the Malfoy rune on your skin. Your acceptance can be contested. _I’m_ going to contest it. Then I’m going to cast my stake, and my brothers will accept me back into the family.”

“Even if all that were true, I still wouldn’t accept. I’d choose the Malfoy house again. I want to marry Lucius and Draco, Ron.” 

“This isn’t about _you,_ ‘Mione! This is about you fixing what you’ve ruined. You’ll be a Weasley house wife – _my_ wife -- and I’ll be reinstated to the family. It’s how it was supposed to be.” He raised his arm behind his back and tried to scratch the middle of it, contorting in an attempt to reach it.

“I’m not going to marry you! Other than the fact that you’ve had sex with every willing girl in this school and treated me horribly, you’ve just abducted me! And even if none of that were true, we have nothing in common whatsoever. I can’t imagine being married to someone who doesn’t appreciate the finer points of Transfiguration, or Arithmancy, or Herbology, or even Divination!!!”

“You hate Divination!” He was within five feet of her now. The covenant was in full panic mode, and Hermione wrestled with the broken chair frame until it stood between her and Ron. She pressed her back against the cold wall behind her, despite the fact that she was beginning to shiver.

“Not nearly as much as I used to. Interestingly enough, Luna made a prophecy at lunch today. She predicted that only the dog could defeat its master. Where’s your damned ankle-biter, Ron?”

Ron’s comprehension seemed to be somewhat delayed, and it took him some seconds to process her question. He tilted his head, frowning, lowering his wand slightly as he said, “You don’t know? Pansy’s an Animagus.”

_Pansy’s the new Animagus._ The information wouldn’t seem to process in her brain. She focused on a simpler problem. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you all rashy and itching?”

Ron dropped all animosity as he complained, “Don’t know – been getting worse for days, especially now that I’ve run out of Burn Paste. That seemed to help a bit. The Glamour covers up the worst of it, though. Now I’ve got pustules everywhere, as well as the rash and itching.”

Hermione was perversely fascinated by his described symptoms, but at her sudden scientific curiosity to see examine them closely the covenant began producing waves of strong dizziness within her. Ducking even farther behind the chair, she refocused her mind on the fact that her old friend had taken her against her will. “You’re completely mad. What’s in this for Pansy, anyway? I mean, I can follow your infantile logic to a point, but what’s her angle?” _Luna prophesied about Pansy. The new Animagus._

“She wants you out of the way so she can have another go at your lover boy.”

There was a sound in the hall and Hermione’s heart leapt with hope, only to plummet when Pansy sauntered into the dungeon room. The brunette witch looked balefully at her for a moment before turning to Ron. “Why are you two still here?”

Pansy’s tone was puzzling to Hermione. There was none of the expected animosity, and almost a flavor of familiarity. She’d expected the two of them to have only banded together out of necessity – not be friendly! Ron answered in an offhand tone. “Portkey’s set for ten minutes from now.” He scratched at his shoulder desperately.

Adrenaline instantly pumped through Hermione’s body. “What are you talking about? What Portkey?” _Tealeaves and waking dreams, and that prophecy about the dog and its master . . . how did it go?_

“Good. That gives me time to get to the main floor and help with the search for her.” Pansy answered Ron as if they were the only two in the room.

“Tell me why you have a Portkey!”

He looked at Hermione with an ugly smirk, even as he scratched at the back of his neck. “There’s to be another meeting of the Weasley men in a bit, and I’m bringing you along. They wanted you – they can have you. I _told you_ you were going to fix this, and I meant it.”

_Please let Molly and Arthur and the boys be at the Burrow._ “What would your brothers want with me? Ron, they aren’t going to force me to do anything against my will! And _you_ !” Here she turned her gaze to the other witch. “How can you possibly think Draco will just fall into your arms when he’s avoided you for _years_?!”

Pansy returned her gaze coolly. “He’ll see that I’m what he really needs – a _pureblood_ witch from a _suitable_ family.” 

“You two are completely deluded.” Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed with frustration. “Ron, this isn’t your finest hour. Have you _considered_ the fact that the Malfoys have entire families in their employ whose sole purpose is to protect them and serve their whims? Plus the fact that regardless of ancient laws regarding bindings and house wives, the Ministry will most certainly track you down for taking me against my will. Whether it’s a Crabbe, a Goyle, or an Auror, I won’t stand in their way when they find us. Do you really want to go to Azkaban?”

“This is why I didn’t cast a stake, ‘Mione – you’re so . . . so _condescending_ to me!”

“That’s a very big word for you, Ron. Are you sure you know what it means?” Internally, she was frantically trying to remember Luna’s cryptic words from lunch. _What were they . . . what were they?!_

He looked furious in an impotent sort of way and scratched his chest furiously. “Don’t belittle me!”

“That’s another one. Perhaps working with Pansy raised your IQ a few points? If so, you should consider retaking your N.E.W.T.S. before graduation. It might be the only way you land a real job.”

“Langlock!” The quietly spoken hex hit an unsuspecting Hermione squarely, rendering her speechless. Pansy lowered her wand and looked at the now-silent witch with disgust. 

The curly-headed witch sat tongue-tied and frozen against the wall, and for the first time, she felt a frisson of true fear run along her spine. Ron looked her up and down in a way that made it obvious what he was thinking, and Hermione shook her head to clear the swoop of dizziness that passed quickly through her.

She took careful stock of her old friend. _If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was certifiably mad_ . She didn’t think it possible, yet there was something terrifying about the fact that he so stubbornly clung to his warped point of view and her perceived culpability. He was being so . . . so _stupid_. The look in his eye spoke of desperation, and Hermione knew that he would indeed take her by Portkey – at wand point – to the Burrow. What would he do there when his family failed to share his delusion?

Pansy’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “I want her out of here. Activate the Portkey early.”

_Oh, please, please, please help me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen – I was wrong!_ The covenant flared warmly within her, curling around her in a comforting way. She felt it rebuking her, though, even as it sent soft tendrils of calm through her nervous system. It seemed to be reassuring her that it would be all right, despite her own stupidity. _I was so wrong about so many things._

“You promised me – one more time, Pans.” Keeping his wand still aimed directly at Hermione, Ron drew Pansy further across the room.

The brunette sighed in impatience but opened her robes and unbuttoned her shirt. “Make it quick, Ron. I need to get going.”

“You keep an eye on _her_.” Only pausing to scratch at his stomach like a flea-ridden animal for a few seconds, Ron fell to his knees and attached himself physically to the Slytherin witch’s breasts. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in disgust at the sight of his rashy face buried in the soft flesh. There was a swatting sound, and Ron cried out angrily just as Pansy spat, “How dare you put a mark on my skin!”

The wizard stood to his full height and growled back, “You didn’t mind at all the last time!”

“That was because I needed your cooperation. How do you think it would look to Draco if I have a love bite on my breast?!”

_How did the prophecy go? Something about the dog and its master . . . one would defeat the other, but which one?_ Hermione watched her two captors bicker as her heart raced. Something was going to happen, and she needed to be ready.

“Like someone else got to you first,” he sneered.

“Why, you- !” Pansy drew back and Transfigured, instantly attacking Ron’s leg viciously in her canine form. He cried out in pain, and the hand directing his wand at Hermione waved wildly.

Time seemed to slow dramatically, then. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but was thrown backward against the far wall in an explosion of blue sparks and landed in a limp, ragdoll sprawl of limbs. She looked to the doorway. There, with blazing eyes and hand outstretched toward the redhead, was Lucius.

He didn’t spare her a glance, but with a gesture of his hand Summoned the broken chair and Transfigured it into a small cage. This he sent hurtling toward Pansy. It dropped over her furry form and snapped shut, trapping her in a space barely big enough for her. He looked over at Hermione for the briefest of moments before conjuring a Patronus. His voice carried clearly across the cell. “Weasley and Parkinson are incapacitated for the moment.”

Then he strode toward the dazed redheaded wizard and bent over him. Lucius stiffened, stepped back a few paces, drew out his wand and passed it over Ron in what seemed to be a diagnostic spell. Finally he looked at Hermione, but not with the tender look she yearned for. 

“Has he touched you?” He asked tersely, his eyes narrowed in displeasure.

She gestured to her mouth, trying to communicate her inability to speak. “Langlock?” He queried.

He uttered the counter-curse, and Hermione shrank away from his brusque tone as she answered. “I don’t know. I woke up in this room by myself.”

“Fucking hell,” Lucius muttered and crossed to her. “That means quarantine.”

He cast another Patronus, intoning, “Poppy, there’s an outbreak of (here he muttered something in a lower, unintelligible tone) at the school. Send help to the lower dungeons immediately.” Then he began raising wards around the dungeon room, effectively locking in the four of them. Lucius Scourgified the space around Hermione, and then he did the same to her hands and every inch of visible skin. 

The abrasive spell stung, but not as much as her wizard’s reaction to her. _What have I done? What does Ron have that’s so awful it’s causing Lucius to act like this?_ Unless it wasn’t Ron’s rash and pustules, but her own disobedience . . . the covenant seemed to wrap itself around her consciousness like a soft blanket, but she found little comfort in it. She wanted Lucius, but he was busy scrubbing her neck with the harsh spell.

“Clothes off, now. _All of them_ ,” he demanded briskly, avoiding looking at her. Blinking back tears, she staggered to stand and began stripping. Her robes slipped off easily enough, and Lucius incinerated them with an Incendio the moment they hit the floor. He did the same to her sweater, blouse, skirt and then her slip and shoes, until finally she stood in her undergarments and socks. Hermione leaned against the wall and struggled with the sock on her injured leg. She gasped in pain when she finally had to rip the knit material away from the wound, where blood had stuck them together.

He still had not looked at her. “What is it?”

“N-n-nothing. She bit me in her Animagus form. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

He closed the gap between them enough so that when he knelt he could examine the wound. Her wizard stood abruptly and spun away from her. When he spoke, he was obviously angry. “This is unforgivable.”

“Lucius, I am so _sorry_ for what I have done. Please don’t turn away from me!” She begged him unreservedly in a trembling voice, hoping her words might soften his hardened heart.

His head came up sharply, and he looked part way over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the wall beside her. His voice was soft. “You mistake my concern in this situation for anger towards you. That is not the case, my love. You were abducted, harmed, and exposed to a dangerous magical malady – and I have been sick with fear. I will not have my first glimpse of your body be under these circumstances. Remove the rest of your clothing quickly, please, before the others arrive.”

His tender words caused Hermione to choke on the sob she had been holding back, and now her pent-up tears flowed freely down her cheeks. When her bra, knickers, and socks were dissolved in a final puff of smoke, Lucius slipped out of his robe and handed it back to her. 

Hermione quickly shoved her arms into its sleeves and wrapped the enormous outer garment around her. 

“Are you clothed?” At her quiet answer he turned and knelt in front of her, holding her gaze. “Sit and show me your wound.”

Hermione did as he asked, watching as Lucius tucked the robes carefully around her. He left only her injured ankle bared and was careful to keep his hands far from her skin. “I am sorry for this,” he said as he aimed a powerful Scourgify directly into the wound.

She bit back a cry of pain but couldn’t suppress the fresh round of sobs that caused her whole body to heave in a fierce, childlike grief. _If only I had listened! If only I had obeyed!_ The enormity of her own hubris crashed over her awareness with humiliating force.

Lucius began reaching a hand toward her face but stopped himself. “I would hold you, pet, but that isn’t possible at the moment. Here you are, shhhhh.” He drew a silk handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dropped it in her lap.

Hermione took it and pressed it to her face, inhaling the scent of her wizard while she fought to control her ragged sobbing. “I’m s-s-s-s-o s-s-s-s-orry, L-l-l-ucius!”

Unable to do anything else, he made soothing noises, and she took comfort in them as though he had gathered her into his arms. Her breathing quieted slowly. The loud trample of running feet came down the hall, and Draco and Greg Goyle came barreling into the wards surrounding the cell. Her younger wizard was clearly panic-stricken, and he pushed against the magical containment field as he looked for her in the room. The ward stretched slightly against his shoving, allowing him a brief view of her sitting against the wall. “Hermione! Lucius, let me in! What’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry, Draco. You cannot enter. There is a contagion in the room. Hermione has been exposed, and must be quarantined.” He added, “I didn’t know before I entered the room, but someone needed to watch those two and stay with our witch in any case.”

Draco, unable to see her once more, said tensely, “Are you alright, Hermione?”

She sniffled, but her voice was clear when she answered. “Yes, Draco.”

“Can you move so that I can see you?”

Hermione crawled a few feet toward the middle of the room. Her feet and backside were completely numb from sitting on the cold, damp floor, and her shivering was even stronger now. She stopped her forward progress as soon as she was in plain sight of Draco. “Here I am.”

He was as angry-eyed as Lucius, but his voice was imbued with love as he teased her. “There you are, little witch. I see you’ve traded in sparkly green freckles for horribly unflattering robes. Are you trying to drive me away?”

“Would it even work?” She smiled at him tiredly, feeling the skin of her cheeks pulled by the dried salt-stain of her tears.

“Not even if you’ve caught Spattergroit. I’m sure you’ll make it look ravishing.”

Harry’s voice came from behind Draco. “Is everything okay in there?” He peered around Greg’s bulky shoulder. “’Mione?”

“Oh, Harry!” She fought back another bout of tears. “Ron wasn’t going to meet you in the Owlery at all! He-”

Harry interrupted her. “I know, love. You didn’t think I’d leave my map in my room after the first time Ron bothered you, did you? I checked it after I’d waited for Ron in the Owlery for almost an hour. What do you think I saw? I saw you, in the lowest dungeons, with him and Pansy Parkinson! I only stopped to send Patronuses to Lucius and Draco and then ran all the way here.”

Her younger wizard had turned his attention to the unconscious redheaded wizard in the back of the cell, and there was a dangerous gleam in his eye.

She asked Harry, “How long was I gone?”

“Just over an hour.”

“Only _one_ _hour_?! It felt like six!” She gave a long, drawn-out sigh and leaned against the frame of the broken chair. “I’d really like a bath right now.” _And a long nap. I’m exhausted._

For once Draco’s eyes didn’t glaze over at the idea of a waterlogged Hermione. He nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure you’d like to wash away this whole thing. What’s happened to your ankle, sweetheart?”

_It’s so cold in here._ She had stretched out her hurt leg, and Draco had caught sight of the dog bite. “Pansy bit me. She’s an Animagus, you know.”

He looked murderous and turned to look at the caged little dog. “You disgust me.”

The little dog whined pitifully, then turned to growl in Hermione’s direction. Without even looking at her, Lucius cast a Stinging hex with a carelessly flung hand. “We will have your silence, bitch.”

Had she not been so tired and cold all of a sudden, Hermione would have found tremendous satisfaction in the vengeful gesture. _How very un-Gryffindor of me_. Draco was loudly demanding to be let through the wards and given a go at Ron, and Lucius raised his voice as well in heated argument. She couldn’t seem to focus on their words, and the noise they were making jangled in her ears painfully.

In the middle of the fuss, Madam Pomfrey finally arrived carrying a valise marked _Magical Maladies_. By that time Hermione was fighting to keep her eyelids open, and even Lucius’ heavy robes couldn’t keep her from violently shivering. The two of them talked in hushed whispers until the matron noticed the curly-haired witch’s quiet convulsions. “She’s going into shock.” There was a rustling, and then a piece of chocolate was pressed against her mouth. “Miss Granger, eat this.’ Madam Pomfrey was talking to Lucius again, now. “Perform a Hot-Air Charm and aim it directly over her.” Hermione felt the sudden added weight of a heavy blanket and clung to it gratefully, even as she felt herself Levitated off the cold stones. The chocolate was working its usual magic. “This dungeon floor is like ice, Lucius. You should have done this as soon as you got here.”

“Keep your attention on the most pressing problem at hand, Poppy.” Lucius’ voice was a low growl, and Hermione smiled sleepily in the growing warmth. _I do love bossy Lucius._

Madam Pomfrey conducted brief diagnostic spells on the three students in the cell. Finally she said, “I’m putting a Containment charm around you and also Miss Granger. You may carry her to the infirmary and wait for me. _These two_ will have to stay here until St. Mungo’s can transport them. Mr. Weasley is in the final stage of venerea morbis et venefici, as you suspected, and as such he’ll . . . well, you know. Miss Parkinson is most likely infected, but in what stage I cannot say. Go, but don’t touch anything or anyone. And Lucius,” she added reluctantly, “your quarantine protocol was acceptable.”


	36. Monday Evening

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Monday Evening

Wrapped in a palpable Containment charm, Hermione was lifted gently by her wizard and carried across the castle to the infirmary. The moment his arms closed around her, her body relaxed and curled into him as much as it could. The charm prevented her from direct tactile feedback, but she could sense his familiar, comforting shape and his voice was low and comforting in her ear.

“Stay awake, pet - or do you need me to wake you up? Hmmm?” His usually silken voice sounded rough and exhausted.

She fought the sleep that was bearing down on her. “I’m so tired! Just a quick nap.”

Lucius swatted her bottom, and through the heavy cloth of his robes and the Containment charm, the sensation was muted. “No nap for you. Don’t make me wake you up forcefully, pet - you won’t like my methods.”

“Mmmmm. I don’t think I’d mind if you spanked me.” She could hear noises around them, and forced her eyes open. Lucius was climbing the stairs from the dungeons into the entrance hall, into a stream of traffic emanating from the great hall. _Dinner must be over just now_. “I didn’t get dinner, Lucius. I’m starving.”

“Stay awake and I’ll feed you whatever you like in the infirmary,” he murmured close to her temple. He raised his head and pushed through the students, largely ignoring them except to navigate through them with as little physical interaction as possible. Hermione kept a lazy eye on the goings-on, and let her mouth run as latent knowledge began processing in her brain.

“Ron has a wizarding venereal disease? At least, I think that’s what you said to Madam Pomfrey. If I barely came into contact with him today and have to be quarantined, there’s a whole bunch of infected witches here at Hogwarts. Lisa Turpin, for one. And Ursula Penkridge. Oh, and the Patil twins. Those are just Ron’s snogs in the past week that I know about. And he and Pansy have been cozy, too. Ugh.”

Lucius shushed her, and she quieted against his shoulder. At that moment, the Headmaster’s amplified voice filled the castle, directing all students back to the great hall until further notice. Now they were walking against the flow of students, and their pace slowed considerably for a time. 

“We don’t have a chaperone,” she commented as the crowd thinned. “ _You’re_ breaking the rules now.”

He narrowed his eyes in a warning look, but only said, “In this instance, your safety and that of the other students takes preeminence.”

Eventually they reached their destination, and he strode through the infirmary to the large bath at the end of the room. Her wizard gently set her on the edge of the tub and turned to the tap, testing the water until it was to his liking. He studied the various bottles of soaps and Potions on the nearby ledge and finally settled on several, which he poured under the running water. Satisfied, he raised a hand to her face and brushed it against the Containment charm. “Can you manage to bathe yourself, my love?”

Hermione groaned. _I’m so tired! And hungry - I just want to eat and then sleep for the rest of my life . . ._ “No.”

Lucius sighed and stood her up. “You’re not making this easy, pet. Very well.” Keeping his eyes on her face, he divested her of the oversized robes and helped her into the tub, where she sank like a small stone. The Containment charm was released at a word from him, and the strongly medicated water began eating away harshly at any residue or impurity on her skin.

“I’m so hungry I might die, Lucius.” She warned, and then huffed when he smiled indulgently.

He summoned a Malfoy house elf, who was ridiculously eager to bring some dinner for ‘the Lady Malfoy’. Within minutes, she was inhaling bite-sized morsels of bread, fruit, and meat as fast as she could while Lucius scrubbed her from head to toe with an overly abrasive pumice stone. In fact, the water itself was abrasive, and when she complained bitterly of that fact, her wizard had the gall to laugh.

Hermione was completely devoid of fight. She had been stripped of pride and power in the past hour or so, and now she was reduced to a pout and quivering lower lip. Lucius teased her gently. “You wanted to talk with the Weasley boy, pet, and you wanted me to help you bathe. Now you must suffer the consequences.”

“But the consequences hurt! Oh, Lucius!” Her eyes welled up with tears yet again. “I am so, so sorry to have disobeyed the courtship rules. I have been so stubborn, and prideful, and blind to the obvious! How can you ever forgive me?”

Lucius gave her a tired smirk. “Alas, my Bespoken one is a Gryffindor. It won’t be the last time she vexes me with her maroon and gold faults.”

“Thank you for scrubbing me. I don’t think I could have managed myself.” Her head lolled against the edge of the tub and she was once again fighting sleep, despite the sting of the water and scrape of the pumice.

“Please, Hermione - do _not_ remind me of what it is I’m doing right now. In my mind, I am mucking out the Thestral stables at the Manor.”

“Have you done that before?”

“Many times; it was one of the lesser punishments Abraxas gave me as a child.”

“Tell me about when you were a young boy.”

Lucius furrowed his brow, looking at a point over her shoulder as he roughly scraped the pumice against her inner thigh. She flinched but didn’t complain. _It’s my own fault he’s doing this, and I’m sure he’s only scrubbing so hard because he’s imagining a filthy stable._ He began, “I have always had a fondness for Thestrals . . .”

By the time he was finished, Hermione was quite sure no skin remained on her body and that Lucius had been a fascinating child. Finally he rose to his feet and left the large washroom, instructing her to rinse well and wrap in a towel. “I’ll find you a pair of pajamas.”

He was back just as she was sitting down in a pathetic, shivering huddle on the edge of the tub. “Put these on and come out when you’re ready.” His eyes never strayed from hers. His respect for her person and desire to wait to see her body sent a sharp stab of emotion through her chest cavity. _Even my internal organs love him._

She exited the washroom in the familiar, ugly pajamas to find that the infirmary had been modified while she was busy. Lucius herded her towards a far corner where privacy screens had been set up around a cot. Directing her to enter the space, he lifted a hand and began to raise Containment wards around her.

Even in her state of exhaustion, she remembered to ask, “Wait; will you dry my hair first, please? Pansy must still have my wand, and no one wants to see my hair in its natural state.”

“Of course, pet.” Hermione quickly taught him the incantation and wand movement, and he did an exemplary first-time job. Lucius returned to his previous task, and soon Hermione was sealed into her space. He ordered kindly, “Sleep.”

“Must you leave, Lucius? I want to know what’s going on!”

“I need to scrub myself in that same horrid concoction, burn my clothes and don a pair of those awful pajamas, and then I’ll be in the isolation bay beside you. I give you my word that all will be told in the morning.”

“I’m sorry you have to do it yourself. When we’re married, I’ll wash you - and I won’t use a pumice stone.”

Lucius gave a throaty chuckle. It was the happiest noise she’d heard in hours. “I’ll hold you to that, pet.”

The small, clean witch lay down on her cot, and found that her brain was much too tired to perform its usual bedtime routine of analyzing the events of the day. Her eyelids fell shut almost immediately, her breath evened out, and she fell into a deep sleep filled with strange dreams of weddings, Portkeys, and pustule-ridden dogs.

  
  



	37. Monday at Midnight

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Monday - Midnight

Hermione was awakened in the middle of the night by the light of the moon, which streamed brilliantly through the window nearest her cot and directly onto her face. She had slept only a few hours, but felt somewhat refreshed and stood to peek around the privacy screens to see if anyone else was in the infirmary. 

Putting weight on her injured ankle wasn’t nearly as painful now, and she crouched to look at the wound. It had been dressed at some point while she was sleeping, and there was a telltale purple stain on the bandage from wound cleansing potion.  _ I must have really been out of it, to have slept through that. That stuff stings quite badly. _ She wished someone had thought to put burn paste on her face - she could still feel the abrasive effects of Lucius’ multiple Scourgifies and pumice scrubbing. 

Sometime during her slumber, more isolation bays had been set up, and she counted six within her line of sight. Someone must have added a Muffliato to the wards surrounding her, because there were too many people moving around in the large hall for the silence that prevailed. There were several strangers in the garb of Healers, and the young witch presumed they were from St. Mungo’s, as Madam Pomfrey had mentioned contacting that place earlier. The matron herself was bustling toward Hermione now, pushing a heavily laden cart.

She felt the air around her crackle as the wards were lowered, and stepped back when Madam Pomfrey raised her hand in a halting gesture. “Stay there, please. I’m glad to see you’re awake, Miss Granger. It’s time for your scheduled scan. Sit tight - I’ll be right back.” 

The wards were raised again except for the Muffliato, and now Hermione was aware of exactly how noisy the infirmary really was. She hugged herself against the chilled air, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Looking to her right for the first time, she gave a startled jump. Only a few feet away, Lucius sat in his own moonlit bay, watching her silently from his usual wingback chair. His platinum hair was unbound and hung heavy over his shoulders, framing a face that looked as painfully scrubbed as her own, and he wore a pair of the infirmary-issued pajamas. She walked toward the invisible barrier between them, wanting nothing more in that moment than to be close to him. Lucius must have sensed her need, for he leaned forward and gave a small, gentle smile.

A haughty-looking silver-haired man with rather theatrically styled Healer’s robes was approaching her alongside Madam Pomfrey. Lucius unfolded himself from the chair and walked to the edge of his space, gesturing for his wards to be brought down. With a swish of her wand, the matron lowered the Muffliato only and said, “I’m sorry, Lucius, but you have six hours left of your quarantine. I’ll leave the Muffliato down if you prefer.”

“She’s only just woken up. The ankle wound seems to be healing quickly. And for Merlin’s sake, get something for her poor face, Poppy!” Her wizard’s report to the other two made it seem as though he’d been keeping watch over her while she’d slept.  _ He probably has.  _

The Healer introduced himself to Hermione as Tertius Flambolt, Lead Healer for St. Mungo’s Second Floor Emergency Response Team, and seemed to wait for her to be impressed. When she merely smiled politely, he sniffed disdainfully.

She queried, “Second Floor - that’s Magical Bugs, isn’t it? Contagious maladies?”

“Of course. Who else would be called to a catastrophe of this magnitude?”

“Forgive me - I know that Muggle diseases and treatment differ greatly from the wizarding variety, but how can a venereal disease be considered catastrophic?”  _ Surely there’s a potion and incantation to cure it! _

The Lead Healer puffed out his chest. “Venerea morbis et venefici is a  _ magical  _ bug, and as such it is exceedingly contagious and difficult to treat. It can present great permanent risk to its host. Hogwarts has one confirmed case in its final stages, and several more in stage two. That means the entire school must remain under quarantine until the infected have been identified and removed from the population for treatment. The fact that you show no signs of the malady as of yet is remarkable, and can only be explained by the nonresponsive state phenomenon of VMV.”

“Wizarding venereal disease? Well, that figures . . . Just how many stages does it have, and what is ‘a nonresponsive state’? And  _ what exactly do you mean ‘as of yet?  _ How could I possibly have contracted such a thing?” Hermione practically growled the last part.

The two Healers paused to cast Containment charms over themselves and then lowered the rest of the wards around her. Healer Flambolt waved away her questions and gestured imperiously toward her cot. “Please lie down while we run another scanning spell. And be still, for Merlin’s sake!”

Hermione complied and squinched her eyes shut against the unpleasant crawling feeling of the spell as it traveled over her body. She wondered if Lucius had had to undergo these as well, for all the shortness of his exposure to Ron in the dungeon. Finally the sensation ended, and Hermione opened her eyes. Healer Flambolt gave a peremptory nod and spoke, mainly to the matron. “Still clear. We’ll continue running these hourly scans until six o’clock, when the bug will have run out of time to establish itself. Now that she’s awake, begin regular doses of Vitamix and Pepper-up to bolster her system.” 

He looked at the matron expectantly until she answered him in a tight tone. “ _ Yes _ ,  _ Lead  _ Healer Flambolt,  _ sir _ .”

He turned to leave Hermione’s isolation bay. She cried out, “Wait! Where are you going?”

“My duties do not include playing nursemaid to demanding patients. I will return for your next scan in an hour.”

“But I have questions!”

“Then I suggest you find someone to answer them.” With that, Tertius Flambolt was gone in a flourish of robes.

She was tempted to yell something uncivilized at him, but caught herself at the last moment. “Well, he’s rather self-important.”

Poppy Pomfrey muttered, “And you’ve only just met him.”

Lucius sighed. “Poppy, please tell me you have some burn paste on that cart, and that you plan to cover my fiancée’s face with it. She looks as though she’s had a run-in with a burping dragon.”

The matron actually smiled a bit. “I do, and you’re going to get some as well, you big baby. Don’t try to tell me you’re not worried about your own handsome face!” 

Several minutes and two potion doses later, there was still steam coming out of Hermione’s ears and her mouth burned pleasantly with the strong taste of peppermint. She could already feel the soothing magic of the burn paste at work on her raw face. In fact, the combined power of the Pepper-up and Vitamix had her humming cheerfully while she watched Madam Pomfrey apply healing salve and a fresh bandage over her dog bite.  _ Side effects of mixed potions can be extremely pleasant _ . _ I wonder if people mix these two recreationally. _

Looking up from her task, the matron asked, “Miss Granger, how close were you to Mr. Weasley while you were conscious?”

“Errrrr, no less than five feet, I’d say.” 

“That’s very close - the pustules on his exposed skin could easily have burst and infected you from that distance.”

“He mentioned them when I asked why he was scratching so, but I couldn’t see them through the Glamour he was using.”

“We were very fortunate the Glamour was dropped when he was rendered unconscious, otherwise Lucius wouldn’t have recognized the symptoms straight away.” Finished dressing Hermione’s ankle, Madam Pomfrey stood. “I need to go and help that St. Mungo’s windbag, but I’ll be back to run Lucius’ scans in half an hour. If you need anything before then, you’ll have to yell.” 

As the matron left Hermione’s bay and raised all wards but the Muffliato, she added, “And Lucius can undoubtedly answer most of your questions in the meantime - he’s always been a closet Contagious Maladies buff.  _ Thank Merlin _ he knew what it was in the first place.” She quickly lowered Lucius’ wards barely long enough to hand him his own dose cup of burn paste, and left to continue her rounds.

Lucius sighed again as he spread the medicine over his face. Hermione walked the few feet to where the wards separated them physically and smiled at him manically. “Please tell me what’s going on as quickly as you can, before the effects of these Potions wear off. I have a feeling I’ll need a sense of humor to hear it all.” _ I don’t think anything could bother me right now. _

“If only our dose schedule were synchronized - then we could laugh about it together,” he mused wryly. “Very well, somehow or another, your  _ friend _ Mr. Weasley contracted an extremely contagious, extremely malevolent magical bug, which is rarely caught outside of establishments of ill-repute.”

“Ron went to a . . . a  _ brothel _ ? What’s the incubation period?” Even in her giddy state, her brain whirred at its usual breakneck speed.

He continued on at a deliberate pace, ignoring her question. “The symptoms would have been as mild as those of a cold at first, and then he would have developed a rash . . . in a rather sensitive area. We can only assume Mr. Weasley treated this himself, as he did not visit the school infirmary.”

“I think he mentioned using burn paste,” she interjected brightly.  _ I truly love this feeling! _

Lucius raised an eyebrow and she mimed zipping her lips together, barely suppressing a grin. He continued. “This first stage of the disease is easily treatable but rarely caught in time. It can span  _ years _ , and can only be spread through sexual congress. Unfortunately, since heightened arousal is almost constant, the transfer rate is ridiculously high. Then the symptoms change. The rash disappears in the second stage, but the face is subject to flushing a deep, dark color when emotions are strong, and thought processes become increasingly impaired. The libido is even more elevated.”

“Yes! Ron’s have been like that for the last two weeks! I remember thinking his blushes weren’t nearly as attractive as Draco’s. Oh, and-”

“Are you quite done, pet?” Her wizard was looking down his aristocratic nose at her with eyes narrowed in a hint of mock irritation.

“Yes, Lucius.” She looked at him with as much contrition as she could muster in such a buoyant mood. It actually felt like she was floating a few inches above the ground.

“The second stage is much more contagious, as the bug seems to need only a responsive host. This is the least understood part of VMV.”

“What exactly is a responsive host?”  _ I can’t wait for another dose of this blessed stuff.  _

“I think you’ll find this fascinating: the earliest recorded outbreak of VMV occurred some three hundred years ago on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s, in ward 49.”

“The Janus Thickey ward!” She beamed.

Her cheerful mood seemed to be rubbing off on Lucius just a teensy bit, or at least that’s how she interpreted his raised eyebrows and twitching mouth. “Yes. A patient was unknowingly admitted with VMV, which he passed on to every conscious member of the ward. It was like a perfectly controlled experiment. There were no casualties, curative potions and Healers were both plentiful, and copious notes were taken.”

Hermione gave an uncharacteristically girly squeal. “I love notes!” _ And this wonderful potions regimen! - I get to take it again and again and again . . . _

“I’m sure you do, pet.”

“Well, don’t stop now that you’ve got to the good part! And stop sighing like that; you sound so grumpy, Lucius!” She scolded in a singsong voice. _ It’s almost better than champagne! I’d like some more, soon. _ Already she could feel a dwindling in her synthetic euphoria, although it was so slight it was hardly worth complaining about.

He looked at her pointedly, and she stuck out her tongue at him. “Of particular interest was the fact that, despite the same amount of contact, the ward 49 inhabitants who were in unconscious or comatose states were unaffected by the VMV. Recent research seems to validate this phenomenon - that the bug seems to require a host who is both awake and aware during initial contact.”

As Lucius said this, a little bell was going off in Hermione’s head, and it was such a cheerful little sound! At the same time, the presence of the covenant shimmered brighter than it had in the past and seemed to pass on a feeling of satisfaction. She crowed in delight, flapping her hands in impatience until he was finished. “Do you think . . . Could it be why . . .?”

Lucius seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because he finished her thought. “Yes. It would appear we have found a plausible reason for your swooning.”

“Because it  _ knew _ I would want to touch Ron at some point - probably to smack him, or push him away! Or that he’d touch me. And here I was, thinking it was ineffectual! We should tell Aberforth Dumbledore - he’d think this was fascinating!  _ I _ do -  _ I _ think it’s fascinating, Lucius! I love our covenant! I can’t wait to get to know it better. Oh, just  _ think _ of the personal research possibilities!!!!” 

She was positively giddy and found Lucius’ lack of humor to be hilarious. Eventually he smiled indulgently at her effervescent spirits. “You do realize the effects of the potions should be wearing off shortly, pet?”

  
“Yes, yes - I know, they already are.” She grinned at her wizard. “But even without their influence, I think I’ll find it amusing that we’re being screened for the first stages of this venerea morbis et venefici, even though I’m a virgin and you’ve been celibate for as long as I’ve been alive. That’s really quite funny!”

Her wizard, who had slowly been catching her good mood, became serious once more. “All because a certain Bespoke Witch couldn’t be bothered to follow her rules of courtship. ‘Rule number one: never be without your chaperone.’ I would have thought that would be an easy one for such an intelligent witch.”

Her pleasant buzz was all but gone and was quickly being replaced by an overwhelming sense of guilt and a slight headache. Hermione dropped her eyes to the ground. “Lucius, I am so very sorry for leaving Professor Vector.”

“Look at me,” he commanded, and she obeyed promptly. “For what you have done, by ancient law, I have the right to revoke my stake. I would never do such a thing, but you must understand the serious nature of your actions. Never again, Hermione. You will not disobey me again.”

The last of her buoyant mood evaporated instantaneously as Lucius’ stern words sank deep into her consciousness. She stood with her head bowed, ashamed of herself. Suddenly it reminded her of her earliest remembered transgression, sneaking cookies out of the cupboard before dinner. Her parents had discovered her in the act of filling her pockets and the treats had been banned from the house for a time.

“And do these ancient laws require punishment?” She asked in a small voice. Hermione risked raising her eyes again to those of her wizard, only to find them unusually bright.  _ Are those tears? _

Lucius lifted his hand as if to touch her but was rebuffed by the wards. “My role is to protect you at all costs - not to punish, my love.” 

She sagged with relief, but he continued, “However, as soon as this ordeal is done, Draco and I will mark you as our Wife. We will take our time seeking out the most perfect spot of skin on your body, where we will bind a rune so that no mad man can ever attempt to dispute your acceptance of our stake again. This will be done according to the most ancient rites of binding.”

Did he mean for those words to have such a trichotomy of effects on her? Her intellect processed the fact that this sounded like an archaic ceremony of sorts, her ego bristled that he planned to brand her as he would a possession, but her body responded with an unexpected surge of pure desire. She felt it lick like flames outward from her belly, consuming every inch of her being. Hermione’s heart picked up speed and her breath hitched.  _ I can’t remember how to swallow. _ She gulped noisily. “Do I have a choice in this?” Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears.

“We will have the wizarding world know that you have chosen the House of Malfoy. It is our right.” Lucius was still looking at her sternly, but his eyes traveled a circuit that seemed to go from her head to her feet.  _ Has he already decided on that perfect spot? _ She shivered at the thought. He added in a softer voice, “It would have happened before our wedding in any case. We waited to give you time to adjust, but now I see that your education in ancient traditions and the laws protecting them is severely lacking. We will correct this straight away.”

Several mental images of her first few post-acceptance meetings came to mind, and Hermione panicked. “Tie me down! Mark me with your rune! Anything would be better than another educational breakfast with Minerva and Molly! Please keep those two away from me, Lucius - they’re awful!”

For the first time since she had awakened, her wizard laughed. It was a deep, happy sound, and reassured the young witch that all would be right between the two of them. “And lose the pleasure of watching you squirm? Although, it would be an enjoyable task for me to take upon myself. What do you think, pet - would you like for me to be your teacher?”

_ What did he mean about watching me squirm? _ Something about his comment stirred another recent memory, something to do with the sound of a throat clearing . . . but then the rest of his words arrested all brain function.  _ Lucius is going to educate me.  _ Hermione tried to shake an instant wave of arousal by peering out into the bustling infirmary again, deciding not to answer such a loaded question. __

The pompous Lead Healer from St. Mungo’s returned with Madam Pomfrey to run the next series of scans on Lucius, who refused to lie down for them. Instead, he stood motionless and glaring down at the shorter man until the Healer finally quailed enough to satisfy the taller, more commanding wizard.

Hermione found the silent interaction between the two amusing, and it seemed Poppy Pomfrey did as well. The two witches exchanged smirks during the scans more than once. “Still VMV clear. You may finish here, matron.”

The older witch looked as though she were about to snarl at the Healer’s back, but she seemed to find enough self-control to reply, “ _ Yes _ , Lead Healer Flambolt,  _ sir _ .”

The wards raised behind the back of the retreating Healer. Lucius asked, “Where is Draco?”

“Since the chances of him having contact with Mr. Weasley were negligible, I scanned him in the dungeons and put a containment charm around him before sending him straight to help Horace make potions.”

Lucius was immediately upset. “Good heavens, Poppy - the boy won’t have been able to meet his most basic needs under such a charm, and you’ve left him in the care of a man who is most likely in his cups as we speak!”

The matron scoffed. “You think I didn’t anticipate that? Miss Greengrass is assisting the two of them, having been in detention with Horace at the time this all started. She is more than capable of releasing Draco from the charm as needed.” Poppy Pomfrey dropped her voice to a confidential level and gossiped, “Incidentally, I couldn’t help but notice she’d been tied erotically beneath her robes - I recognized a shibari knot at the back of her neck. I think she may have climaxed while I was speaking with her!”

_ Not her as well!  _ Hermione blushed and squeezed her eyes shut against the images Madam Pomfrey’s words brought to mind. All desire flushed out of her system immediately. She ground her teeth in vexation as she asked as calmly as possible, “I don’t suppose you were in Ravenclaw house, Madam Pomfrey?”

The matron looked surprised and blinked several times before answering to the affirmative.  _ Damn the female staff of Hogwarts and their obsession with sex! Damn the house of Ravenclaw and their fixation with rope! Oh, and might as well damn Molly Weasley, too, while I’m at it! _ (Much later, Hermione would reconsider her sub classifications of the randy females she knew and clump them together in one larger, simpler group: the general female public of the wizarding world).

Lucius was watching her with amusement even as he redirected the conversation smoothly. “Have the potions shipments begun arriving?”

The question piqued Hermione’s curiosity, especially when Madam Pomfrey answered, “Thank you very much for sending those orders to your warehouse, Lucius. St. Mungo’s sent some supplies, but we would never have had enough without your help. The school is once again in your debt.” The last part was added in a quiet, deferential tone that the matron had not used with her wizard before.

Madam Pomfrey’s words caused a surge of possessive pride to course through Hermione’s being. There was so much she  _ didn’t _ know about her Malfoys yet - their history, their apparently prominent place in wizarding society, the business ventures that funded their wealth . . . But what she  _ did _ know was that they were honorable wizards. _ MY wizards. _ The covenant seemed to purr deep in her consciousness.

The combination of Vitamix and Pepper-up barely affected Lucius, and Hermione was disappointed to learn that each consecutive dose had an increasingly diminished effect on the recipient. Not only would she eventually completely miss the pleasant side effect herself, but also she felt cheated of what well might have been her only opportunity to see Lucius Malfoy in a silly mood. When she gave voice to this regret, he attempted his usual intimidation routine of loom-and-glare, but the wards separating them diminished the effect. 

“You’re not nearly so terrifying with all these wards between us!” She teased.

Lucius smiled darkly. “I wonder if you will be so brave when these charms are lifted?”

Bantering with Lucius was quickly becoming one of her favorite activities. “ _ Said the snake to the lion _ !” 

“Ah yes, I seem to remember having this same conversation last night. At this point you proudly admit to being foolhardy, brash, pig-headed and blindly trusting.”

“You seemed to like those traits quite a bit - or were you just distracted by the ruffles framing my arse?”

“They were indeed distracting.” His eyes twinkled at her and his mouth twitched.

“Perhaps I could distract you again.” She fingered the drawstring of her pajama bottoms.

His eyes were drawn to the action of her hands playing with the cotton cord. “Careful, pet. You’re missing that layer at the moment.”

“How would you know?” She lifted her eyebrow haughtily, biting her lower lip harshly to keep from smiling.

“Regrettably, I was forced to use an Incendio on that particularly small scrap of lace you were wearing earlier.” 

She smiled triumphantly. “And did you find them distracting?”

He grinned wolfishly. “My only regret was not being able to remove them myself.”


	38. Tuesday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Tuesday Morning

Eventually, Hermione dragged her cot closer to their invisible wall and lay down while they talked. “What’s going to happen to Ron?”

The tired-looking wizard looked at her from his wingback chair, where his handsome face and elegantly sprawled long limbs made even the infirmary-issue pajamas look decent. “I cannot find it within myself to care.”

“Lucius!” 

He leaned his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers against his chin. “He has done this to himself, pet. My concern extends only as far as his family; I would never wish ill on Molly and Arthur.”

“Will he recover soon?”

Lucius looked slightly irritated. “Final stage VMV requires lengthy treatment. Mr. Weasley will most likely take up residence in the fourth floor long-term ward.”

“But he will eventually recover?”

That was apparently the wrong question. He positively glowered at her. “And why do you take such an interest in the recovery of this boy?”

_ He’s still insecure, although why I have no idea. Ron’s an oozing, evil mess. Although I suppose his first wife had similar taste . . . _ Realizing her mistake, Hermione backpedaled quickly. “I only wondered what his symptoms and treatment would be!”

He looked slightly appeased, and as he talked he didn’t try to hide his satisfaction in Ron’s plight. “Very well. Mr. Weasley will be in isolation until the pustules covering his skin stop erupting. When the last one has popped, and his skin has scarred over grotesquely, he will be allowed visitors. Not that anyone would choose to spend time with such a patient - his thoughts will continue on in their fixations, his libido will remain elevated, and he will most likely become violent.”

“That’s awful! Poor Ron!”  _ Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. _ “What I mean is, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone!”

Lucius narrowed his eyes and continued. His beautiful voice traced each word lovingly, darkly. “He may or may not regain full use of his faculties. If he does not, he will most likely be moved to the Janus Thickey Ward when he is no longer able to spread the disease through simple contact. Restraining charms will be placed on him to prevent harm to the other patients and staff, and he will be fitted with a magical device that warns of his deteriorated mental condition. This is for the unlikely event that he should escape from care.”

“And if he does make a full mental recovery?”

“I eagerly look forward to prosecuting him to the fullest extent of the law. He will be sent to Azkaban for kidnapping and willfully spreading a harmful contagion, and when he is released, I will arrange for him to live the remainder of his life in a private, high-security institution.”

“And if he’s found not guilty and allowed to go free?”

“He won’t be, I assure you.”

“But if he  _ is _ ?” She pressed, somehow already knowing the answer.

“He will be given the choice between a relatively comfortable life in the institution I mentioned, or a brief struggle with a Crabbe or Goyle.”

_ Lucius is not a man to be crossed. He’s honorable - yes-– but he’s also dangerous. Just not to me. _

“That isn’t how Gryffindors do things.”

Lucius looked almost amused. “No.”

“But he didn’t mean for any of this to happen! It was a horrible accident - a mistake!”

“There was no mistake, no accident. Let us imagine the scenario. For him to have contracted this bug, he would have to have knowingly sought out the lowest of whorehouses in Knockturn Alley – a place avoided by all but the most desperate of men. He would have ignored the warning feeling in the pit of his stomach as he entered, the stench of the place, the filth of the room, and the desperation of the woman herself. And for what - at most a few hours of questionable pleasure? Mr. Weasley has willfully chosen each of his poor decisions: he  _ chose _ not to cast his stake with his brothers. He  _ chose  _ to treat you with callous disregard. He  _ chose  _ to dally with a prostitute. You will  _ not _ pity such a man, Hermione. I forbid it.”

“You cannot forbid me my own feelings, Lucius! But you’re right; it’s obvious he worked hard to do this to himself. He doesn’t  _ deserve _ pity.” She sagged against her cot tiredly, glancing at her wizard. “The Ron I knew as my friend has been gone a long time. Still, I wouldn’t wish his future on anyone.” 

“For touching my bespoken one it is the  _ least _ he deserves. His frame of mind at the time is immaterial.” His voice shook with quiet fury, his nostrils were flared, and his lips were pressed into a hard line. “I beg you, leave me to myself. I find I cannot continue this conversation.”

Hermione complied, and a deep quiet settled over them until the next scan. Sleep evaded her as she pondered Lucius’ words. He had clearly spent some time during the night charting out the variable outcomes of the situation, and what he had said (apart from the reference to assassins) made sense. This in itself caused her brain to whirr in activity.

She had always characterized Slytherins as operating in the grey areas where Gryffindors didn’t deign to go, and yet Lucius’ words spoke of a black-and-white view of the world - right versus wrong, wrong based on personal choice, and the ensuing retribution for said choices. They were . . . very much in keeping with the philosophy of her chosen house. 

The only part she could find fault with was Lucius’ allusion to the very permanent consequences if Ron did not take his first offer, and a small part of her argued that it was mitigated under the circumstances. It was the same small part that the Sorting Hat had identified all those years ago, when she hadn’t been as comfortable with that part of herself.  _ The Hat was right - I could have been sorted differently. Draco and I would have gotten to know each other years ago, I would probably have learned more Pureblood traditions in Slytherin, and the Weasleys - and Ron - might never have gotten involved. _ She shook her head to clear it.  _ Then again, I would never have gotten to know Harry, and never helped him win the war. Everything turned out as it was meant to be. _

Her musing was cut short by the arrival of the matron, who looked dead on her feet. She was alone this time. After running Hermione’s second-to-last set of scans, Madam Pomfrey collapsed at the foot of Hermione’s cot in uncharacteristic discomposure. “Never in all my time at this school have we had such an incident. I just got back from speaking with the Headmaster, and he has decided that all unaffected students will be sent home at once.”

The young witch peeked at her wizard. He was regarding the matron with one eyebrow raised in interest. Hermione asked, “How many students will need to be kept under the quarantine?”

Madam Pomfrey shook her head in frustration. “The spread pattern is baffling. One would think the bug would be found primarily amongst upper classmen, specifically Gryffindors and Quidditch players. However, the St. Mungo’s team has just found a large pocket of Gryffindor first years that have been recently exposed!”

_ Oh, Merlin! That’s completely my fault. _ “Ron sat with the first years at lunch today - yesterday, I guess. He wasn’t supposed to be near me, so Ginny sent him to the far end of the lunch table.”

“Well, it’s a good thing the first stage is so easy to cure. If only Mr. Weasley had come to me right away - but I’m sure he knew he’d have to explain where he’d been.”

Hermione was struck by a stray thought. “Madam Pomfrey, what about Pansy Parkinson? What’s happened to her?”

“I don’t ordinarily discuss patients outside of professional conversation, but in this case . . .” here she ducked her head toward Hermione and continued in a lower voice, “Miss Parkinson was diagnosed with stage two and moved to St. Mungo’s along with Mr. Weasley.”

Hermione voiced a concern that had been troubling her all night. She’d held it back, knowing it couldn’t be a priority for anyone, but now the words just tumbled out. “She has my wand. Will I get it back, do you think?”

The matron shrugged apologetically. “You’ll have to contact St. Mungo’s, dear. I’m afraid it might not be a priority right now.”

She nodded in comprehension, chewing on the corner of her lip in silence. She hadn’t needed it other than to dry her hair earlier after her scrubbing, but it felt as though she were missing a limb. She decided not to dwell on it.

“Have the rest of the Weasleys been told? Ron was home last week for a family meeting!”

“They were informed right away. I’m sure they’re at St, Mungo’s now.”

The implications of Ron’s stupidity just continued to multiply.  _ Maybe Lucius’ worst-case solution isn’t so awful after all . . . _

Lucius remained silent throughout Madam Pomfrey’s visit. She whispered to Hermione, “I see  _ he’s _ in a mood. Again.”

Hermione scrunched her face apologetically. “I might have showed sympathy for Ron.”

“That would do it. He’s mercurial on a good day, and the past twelve hours would test a saint. Still, at least he’s learned to control his temper. The day he learned  _ that _ should be observed as holy.”

“I can hear you, Poppy.”  _ How does he manage to make such a menacing tone sound so sexy? I like dangerous men. Maybe there’s something wrong with me . . . _

Madam Pomfrey’s recent bravery around the blond wizard vanished, and as soon as Hermione had received her dose cups of potions, the matron fled.

She swallowed down the prophylactic treatment, disappointed again that no trace of the former, pleasant side effect was detectable. “Only two scans left for me, only one for you. Will you leave after that?”

“I intend to put things in order and then take you with me, pet.”

She smothered her delighted smile into her pillow, nestling down into it with as much contentment as was possible under the circumstances. Her brain whirred away. The past few days replayed in her mind’s eye and she flopped onto her back, groaning with a sudden, harsh irritation for her own stupidity.  _ I was worse than Ron; at least he had an excuse! _

“Is there something you’d like to share, pet?”

“To think, I wasted  _ two days _ on a faulty Arithmantic equation when I could have just listened to classroom gossip and a few Ravenclaws!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I wanted to prove to you that Ron was harmless, and so I started calculations-”

He interrupted her brusquely. “You ran Arithmantic equations with a predetermined outcome in mind?”

“Yes,” she answered in a small voice. It was becoming very obvious to her that her wizards were every bit as intelligent as she was. “I was wrong. But, Lucius I was so sure that if I just  _ talked _ to him, he’d . . .” she trailed off.

Lucius’s eyes were positively icy. “That wizard has been admitted to St. Mungo’s for a stay of indeterminate length as we speak, after which he may well be brought to a Ministry trial. He took you against your will! Does that sound like the sort of man who would  _ listen _ ? How could you have so stubbornly refused to admit you were wrong, Hermione? You have been  _ pig-headed _ , and  _ foolhardy _ . . . ”

He was quiet for a long time, and eventually she looked up, expecting to see him looking at her in angry judgment. Instead he was smiling, albeit in a vexed way. “You’re going to make it up to me. You will spend the rest of our engagement locked in a tower of my own choosing. I’ve had an alternate chaperone on retainer since our binding. As soon as I’m released, she will be sent for. And she won’t be  _ nearly _ as lackadaisical as Mr. Potter.”

Hermione’s heart sank. A tower. Of his choosing. No doubt it would be high, windowless, and accessible only by magic.


	39. Tuesday

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Tuesday

Release from quarantine was anticlimactic. The wards were dropped around their isolation bays at six o’clock, and Lucius immediately pulled her into a tight embrace within the privacy of the screens. When he pulled back her head by a handful of hair and leaned down toward her, she intercepted his kiss with an open palm over his mouth. “ _ After  _ I’ve rinsed the smell of infirmary from me.” 

He narrowed his eyes in displeasure, but finally released her when she didn’t back down. “I’m going home for a few hours. When I return, I expect my kiss.”

Her resolution wavered slightly under his gaze until she remembered how enjoyable anticipation in small amounts could be. The gleam in his eyes confirmed this when she answered, “Yes, sir.” 

“Now let’s see if we can find your chaperone.” His hand settled on the small of her back as he guided her into the main room, and his thumb began rubbing back and forth in that increasingly familiar way.  _ I think I’m being conditioned - but by whom, Lucius or myself? _ The perfectly innocent gesture sent a shot of adrenaline through Hermione’s weary body, and during their slow walk down the length of the infirmary, she was bombarded by the memory of other parts of her body being touched in that same motion; her lips, her nipples, the inner crease of her thigh . . . a flush of awareness and desire bloomed on her cheeks. She glanced up at his handsome, impassive face. “Lucius,” she whispered self-consciously.

His grey-blue eyes met hers for only the briefest of moments, but she was learning to read the subtle play of emotion on her wizard’s face.  _ He knows exactly what he’s doing. _ “Do you require something, pet?”

“I require you to stop teasing me. This isn’t the time.”

“I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rub, rub, rub. Back and forth, back and forth.  _ I’m going to get him back for this. As soon as I can think straight. _

Harry was waiting at the far end of the busy room, and he gave her a brotherly one-armed hug. She was relieved to see him; Madam Pomfrey had given her word that he would be right where he was, but things had been so jumbled up she wouldn’t have been surprised if the message had gone astray. The three exited together, and then Lucius bowed over her left hand before setting off towards the Headmaster’s office to secure permission to Apparate.

Draco was waiting impatiently further down the hall. Hermione flew into his arms even as she watched Lucius moved gracefully away from them, still in his infirmary-issue pajamas.  _ The both of them could make anything look attractive. _

The young, blond wizard leaned against her tiredly. His robes were rumpled, his face was smudged with a dark substance, and he smelled strongly of peppermint. He looked exhausted and in need of attention, but she rebuffed his further advance in the same manner she had Lucius. “Absolutely not. No one is getting kissed until I’ve brushed my teeth and had a real shower with  _ nice _ soap and  _ gentle _ water.”

He sighed heavily. “I’m too tired to argue. Meet me in the courtyard at lunchtime. Meals are being served there because the great hall is being used as the main quarantine site.” He turned to Harry. “Sound all right?”

“Lunchtime. Courtyard. Got it. Come on, ‘Mione. “ 

She disentangled herself from Draco’s long arms, giving him one last smile as she and Harry walked away. He remarked, “I hope he finds his way back to his rooms all right; he looks terrible. What’s he been up to, anyway?”

“He and Astoria helped Professor Slughorn brew Pepper-up and Vitamix all night.”

That caused Harry to chuckle. “Who’d have thought mixing those two potions would be so amazing - at least for that first dose!”

“No kidding. I think I cried a bit when the second one didn’t do the same thing.” A thought occurred to her. “Harry, who else was in the infirmary? I mean, I didn’t even think to ask why some of us were kept there when everyone else was in the great hall.”

“You and Lucius, Crabbe and Goyle, and me. Just the special people, don’t you know,” Harry joked. When she gave him a puzzled look, he explained, “Lucius asked that you be treated privately in the infirmary - and when I say ‘asked’, I mean he said ‘she will be treated privately in the infirmary’.  _ He _ was there because he wasn’t going to leave you, and  _ we _ probably got first-class treatment because we helped find you.”

“That certainly sounds like Lucius. Poor Draco, though - he was up all night brewing potions!”

“I’m sure it was his choice, ‘Mione. It was probably his way of helping you.”

“That makes sense - that Pepper-up potion was quite fresh; it doesn’t take very long at all to brew, either, which means he was probably brewing our doses all night long.”  _ I’m going to find some way to thank him for it, too. _

They reached the top of Gryffindor tower and headed to their respective rooms with the promise to meet in the commons at eleven thirty. Hermione immediately brushed her teeth and stripped off the awful pajamas. She pulled Draco’s Quidditch jersey over her head, and then it was just a matter of setting an alarm for a few hours later, and slipping between the sheets. The early morning sun streamed across her face, birds chirped, but Hermione was fast asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

She awoke to the shrill blast of her alarm at ten o’clock. Sighing, she collapsed back in bed and performed her usual early morning routine of preparing for the day by rehashing the previous twenty-four hours.  _ Draco gave me my most favorite Transfigurations text in the world and promised to take all kinds of liberties with me; then my wand was taken and I was kidnapped. Ron was discovered to have a horrible magical malady, and was carted off to St. Mungo’s for long-term care - Pansy as well. She probably has my wand. The school is under quarantine. Lucius and Draco are going to mark me as the Malfoy House Wife. I’m going to have a new chaperone, and Lucius plans to take me with him. I need a shower and probably an entire bottle of Sleakeazy’s Potion to tame the angry monster on my head. And I want my wand and Transfigurations book! _ She heaved one last sigh, and then forced herself to get up. 

Ten minutes later, Hermione felt like herself again. The hot spray of the shower had renewed her energy almost as much as the nap, and she attacked the rest of her regular routine with zest. Her hair was tamed as best she could manage without her wand, her face was softly made up, and her dragon pendant hung around her neck. She hunted through her wardrobe until she found a summer-weight dress in a pale green color. 

With a grin, the young witch rifled through her top drawer until she found the pair of knickers she was looking for. They were impossibly tiny, emblazoned with sparkles, and across the back the words ‘do you believe in magic’ flowed in script lettering. Slipping them on, she peeked at her saucily clad backside in the mirror before pulling the dress on over her head.  _ Even if neither of them sees these, I’ll enjoy my private joke. I cannot believe my mother bought these, hoping some wizard would see them on me. Oh, mum - if only you knew what I’d got myself into! _

Hermione gave one last spin in front of the mirror and decided to put on a cardigan. She’d briefly thought about taking her spare set of school robes, but there didn’t seem to be any point. Until further notice, school was out for all intents and purposes, and that meant uniforms weren’t required.

Harry was waiting for her in the commons. He seemed to be in a hurry, and, when asked, explained that he was hoping to finally see Ginny and Luna. The two friends set off across the castle at a brisk pace. The halls were silent and empty, save for a steady trickle of students obviously just released from quarantine.

“Are you worried about the girls, Harry?” 

He looked more impatient than concerned. “No; Ginny’s hardly spoken to Ron in the past six months except to yell at him from across a room, and recently she’s avoided him like the . . . well, like the plague. Luna’s never around him. And even if they were, I’d know if one of them had a rash anywhere.”

“Still, it must be difficult, being separated from them without a way to communicate right now.” Hermione’s mind drifted to Draco, wondering if he’d gotten enough sleep.  _ I hope he was able to sleep. He should have been able to get in a good four hours before lunch - maybe five, if he showered quickly. _ That last thought segued into a series of mental images of her younger wizard in the shower, rubbing his beautiful, hard-muscled body with a bar of soap . . . 

Harry was still talking. She tuned in somewhere in the middle. “ . . . I’m trying not to be ungrateful for getting first treatment. I mean, I may not have even seen Gin or Lu in the great hall even if I’d ended up there. And the girls are being taken care of – Madam Pomfrey assured me all the students have been made comfortable. It’s just taking so long.” He gave a groan. “Ironically, you know what would help me get through this? A good shagging.”

Hermione’s mind had wandered back to her fantasy Draco, where she’d left him in the shower. She imagined him trailing one strong hand down his flat stomach to his groin, taking hold of his engorged shaft. Absently, she said, “I’m sure it’s  _ really  _ hard.”

“I’ll tell you what’s hard -  _ I’m _ hard! I want my girls!  _ Merlin _ – a bloke can only go so long without sex!”

His loud, frustrated tone broke through Hermione’s daydream, and she snapped, “Oh, you big baby; what’s it been, twenty-four hours?”

Harry had the grace to look sheepish. “Not quite; I met up with Ginny before dinner.  _ Still _ -!”

“Harry, you do realize that some of us still haven’t actually  _ had it _ at all yet, right? I mean, if we’re surviving then you can, too.” She rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly, wondering if boys had it rougher than girls in this area. True, she found herself desire-ridden and aching for relief regularly, but she thought about plenty of other things between times. She said as much to her ‘brother’.

“Just you wait, ‘Mione. Once you get a taste of it, you’ll want it regularly, too. Just you wait.”

Hermione wondered if she, or Draco, or Lucius stood a chance of becoming such a slave to sex as Harry and the girls seemed to be. Several fantasized scenarios later, her body was pulsing with arousal and her knickers were beyond damp. The idea bore further analysis.

The large courtyard held about two hundred other students. Most were eating lunch at the long tables along one side, and others were huddled in groups. There was a sudden flurry of motion to their right, and Harry spun to find Ginny barreling toward him, her face lit up in delight. Hermione took one look at Harry and knew it was time to leave the two alone.  _ Immediately _ . She waved them off, promising to stay in the courtyard, which, according to Draco’s reasoning in the library last week, should fall under the technical definition of ‘same room’.

Two steps further into the courtyard and she spotted Draco. He was sitting at one of the tables with Greg and Vince, frozen, his eyes fastened on her.  _ He must have been watching for me to arrive. _ She smiled as she walked toward him. The three wizards stood as she approached, and the one she considered her own proceeded to draw her close and kiss her unreservedly. Draco pulled her down beside him, his arm wrapped around her side tightly. He pushed his plate toward her, adding more food from the serving platters with his free hand. “Eat.”

Her stomach rumbled appreciatively, and she tucked into the lamb and root vegetables. Draco’s arm moved beside hers as he ate, lifting his forkfuls above her head to his mouth. His free hand slipped between her cardigan and the lightweight dress to lie against her stomach.

Eventually her appetite was satisfied and she leaned against his chest, listening to the conversation around her and watching Draco continue to eat vast amounts of food. Vince and Greg had been in the courtyard the longest, and they had gathered information from various sources regarding the quarantine, the students, and the emergency plan in place. Now they discussed it for the benefit of those at the table who hadn’t already heard it all. 

Greg’s voice carried around the table as he explained, “Eighth years were screened first, and they’re to leave as soon as they’re able. Nott’s already out here somewhere - he’s probably going to wait for Nick and Astoria, though.”

Hermione’s innate curiosity caused her to interrupt. “Are the students divided by year only? That doesn’t seem very comprehensive, given what Madam Pomfrey told me last night.”

“Oldest, Quidditch, Gryffindor, and those in classes with or who’ve been ‘close’ to Weasley. Those who don’t fall into those categories have to wait.” Greg raised his fingers in the shape of quotation marks as he said ‘close’, and it was obvious what he meant.

“But doesn’t that violate Ron’s privacy, using him openly as a qualifier?”

Vince replied, “There’s no privacy when you’re the cause of an epidemic. Tracey Davis says all witches are being asked specifically if they’ve engaged in sex with Weasley during this school year. She got into the first round of screening because she had a class with him.”

“How many Healers are here? How many scans can be carried on at once? How are they able to maintain so many isolation bays, or have they simply put containment charms on each person individually?”

Her rapid-fire questions caused Vince to chuckle. “Not a clue. What I do know is that they’ve only cleared a quarter of the student population in the past eighteen or so hours. There’s another six hundred and then some still waiting. The St. Mungo’s people should be done by Thursday evening if they work straight through.”

“Why are you two still here?”

Vince waved an unconcerned hand in Draco’s direction. “We leave when he does.” 

Draco finished, “And I leave when you do. You can’t leave without a chaperone, and we can’t ask Harry to drop everything and leave school with you. His replacement has been ready to take over at a moment’s notice since your acceptance. By now, Lucius has contacted her, and she may well already be at the Manor.”

Vince and Greg had begun a conversation of their own on the other side of the table, freeing Hermione to pursue this new topic with Draco.

“Do you know who she is?”

“I’ve met her once; she did some curse-breaking for us after the dark lord’s defeat.”

“What makes a curse-breaker take a job as a chaperone? That sounds a bit like a step down.”

He looked surprised at the comment. “Hermione, traditionally that role is reserved for only the most accomplished wizards and witches. To be asked to chaperone a pureblood courtship is a great honor, and those who accept such a job can expect their careers to be advanced exponentially.”

“Why, then, was Harry chosen?” Hermione asked in a puzzled tone.

Draco tried to contain his resultant burst of laughter, and as a result choked on the mouthful of dessert he had been in the process of swallowing. He finally cleared his airway with a long drink of water. “You don’t see him the way the rest of the wizarding world does, sweetheart. He’s famous, brave, and very powerful. Harry was the obvious first choice.”

“Does he know about the great honor involved and career furthering?”

“I’m sure Lucius had a talk with him, and in any case I did as well. Not that he’ll need any help for much of anything. The House of Potter will be revered for centuries to come.”

Lunch was being cleared, and students were congregating in small groups near the entrance of the courtyard. Draco drew Hermione to her feet and tugged her by the hand in the opposite direction. “Let’s take a walk.”

He slung his arm around her shoulders, and she held his hand where it hung in front of her chest. Leaning into his side as they walked, she remembered how tired he had looked earlier. “You look well-rested, compared to this morning. Did you manage to sleep?”

“Like the dead. I feel much better, thank you.”

“You made all our potions last night, didn’t you?” She asked quietly, pausing to look up at him.

He regarded her with a solemn expression. “I was worried. I needed to do something for you and Lucius, and my particular talents happened to coincide with your needs.”

“Still, you stayed up all night when you really didn’t have to. I’m going to make that up to you somehow,” she said softly.

His previously serious look was replaced with twinkling eyes and one of his patented almost-smiles. “I look forward to that, Miss Granger.”

He turned them both to look at the small crowd of students a ways behind them. “I’m sure the Healers are working as fast as they can, but that’s an awfully small group for the amount of hours they’ve already been at it.”

“It will take days. We really are done with school.” She sighed, saying mostly to herself, “It’s amazing, really, how everything just fell into place.”

Draco ducked his head into her curls, speaking close to her ear. “How do you mean?” 

Hermione answered, “I didn’t make any immediate plans for after graduation, and I can’t honestly say why, except that I just wanted one summer  _ not _ filled with looming responsibility.”

“Aren’t all summers supposed to be relaxing?” He turned them back in the direction of the far end of the courtyard and began pulling her along.

She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye and then settled against his chest again. “Mine have always been very . . . regulated. I’ve always had a year-round study schedule, and summers just meant more time to fit more studies in.”

“That sounds awful, and I actually enjoy studying.”

“I only realized that after I squandered last summer trying to cram as much N.E.W.T.S. prep in as possible. I got to school in the fall and realized all I really wanted to do was spend time with friends, and read for fun, and stare out my window without thinking of a blessed thing.”

“You needed to heal, Hermione. We all did, but you more so. You carried so much responsibility around for so long and worked so hard, watching over Harry and Weasley . . . your body and brain needed the break you gave them this year.” His arm tightened around her shoulder in a comforting squeeze.

She sighed again. “Perhaps you’re right. In any case, I got a boatload of job offers after we took our N.E.W.T.S., some from the Ministry but most from private research and development firms. I sent off a form letter to each one, stating I would contact them in late summer to inquire whether the job was still available. I may have hinted at my war record and used it as an excuse for my sabbatical.”

“That was very Slytherin of you. Do you know which offers you plan to seriously consider?”

She peeked up at him again. “I don’t want to work for the Ministry. It seems so . . .  _ safe _ . Boring, even. Research appeals to me - the work would be different with every project, and I’d be surrounded by like minded people. However, the Ministry jobs will most likely be the only ones still available come fall. The others sounded so good that they’re probably filled by now.”

He screwed up his handsome face comically, managing to look both amused and apologetic. “The R&D job offers are all from Malfoy companies. I think it’s safe to assume any of those jobs will remain open until you respond.”

“Draco, you can’t be serious!”

“What? It was just another failsafe, in case you ran screaming from us.”

“Well, that’s just . . . a rather large blow to my ego.” She huffed, feeling the sting of her wounded pride.

He kissed the top of her head. “You do realize that you wouldn’t have been offered any position you weren’t qualified for, don’t you? That wouldn’t be a very good business policy. However, several were created specifically with your abilities in mind. Lucius would very much like for you to work for some part of the Malfoy Empire, if you want.”

Mollified, she asked curiously, “Which position do  _ you _ want to see me in?”

Draco seemed to be biting back a smile. “I can think of a few.”

Realization dawned on her, and she blushed fiercely even as she smirked at him.


	40. Tuesday Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Tuesday Afternoon

They walked along until they’d come to the columned portico at the far end of the courtyard and entered it. It was even quieter in here, and with the privacy afforded by the large stone pillars it was easy to imagine they were completely alone. Hermione paused when they reached the steep steps at the back of the enclosed area. She wondered if Draco would want to sit, or—

He removed his arm from around her shoulder and gripped her by the waist with both of his hands. Draco swung her up a few steps, evening out their height difference, and drew her against his body. Hermione gave an approving hum and reached up to run her fingers through his soft, platinum hair. His eyes closed in pleasure as he dropped his head to murmur against the corner of her mouth. “I was cheated, little witch.”

“How so?” She whispered back, giving in to the urge to nibble at his lower lip. Since her fantasy of him in the shower hours before, her system had been laced with desire. It had continued to build within her after their kiss at the lunch table, despite their serious conversational topics. Now, realizing that they were virtually alone in the best of possible ways, her body was positively thrumming with it.

Draco’s hands were under her cardigan again, wrapped around her sides, and his thumbs were running up and down her ribcage in shiver-inducing lines. He kissed each of her lips separately until her mouth opened to him, but he pulled away. “Yesterday after lunch I was given to understand that I would not only have a visit with you, but that I would be sent another gift as well.” 

He kissed her again, running his tongue against the seam of her lips. When she opened for him, he lifted his head again, smirking at her moan of frustration.

“I spent all afternoon with my hand in my pocket, running my fingers along the ribbons of the knickers you sent me.” He ran his hand down to her hip, pulling her torso flush against the hard length of his shaft. “Thinking of seeing you later.” He pushed his other hand up under her sweater to cup her breast over her dress, running his thumb over one already sensitized nipple. “Thinking of what I wanted to do with you.”

“Draco—” Her protest was swallowed by his mouth as he finally kissed her, swiping his tongue against her lip and then pushing it into her mouth in brief, teasing motions. The relief she felt was instant, but fleeting – now that she had what she wanted, she wanted even more. Her hands tugged at his hair, and he made a pleased sound.

Draco broke the kiss far too soon, but his thumb kept up its assault on the point of her breast. Her addled brain noted his technique was familiar.  _ They’ve been talking about me. _ She struggled to follow his words. “Imagine my dismay when I learned that not only did my wife-to-be allow herself to be kidnapped, but she got herself quarantined as well – effectively ruining my perfectly laid plans.”

He gave one slow thrust against her middle, bringing her attention back to his erection trapped between them.  _ My poor Draco, all hard and wanting. _ Hermione dragged her wizard’s head down to her level by his hair and tried to pour out an apology through her doting lips.

Draco pulled back when they were both out of breath. His ocean-colored eyes had darkened. “It’s time to pay up, Hermione. I demand your time and knickers.” 

“Anything.” Hermione gasped as he moved his mouth to her neck. He was pressing soft, wet kisses to the sensitive skin, and she was having difficulty thinking. “Only, I don’t have a spare pair with me.”

“Not my problem,” he countered huskily. He switched the position of his hands, and now his other thumb was moving over her other, neglected nipple, causing her to gasp and arch into the fantastic feel of it.

“Ooh. Mmmm. You can have the ones I’m wearing.” _ Just please don’t stop what you’re doing _ .

He froze momentarily, lips on her collarbone, and then slowly pushed his hips against hers with a deep moan. Hermione remembered the way they had wrapped themselves around each other near the lake a few days previously and wished feverishly there were some way they could do the same here. She wanted – no,  _ needed _ – to feel him moving between her legs.  _ Surely he needs it just as much. _

Meanwhile, Draco’s hand moved away from her chest. Her mewl of protest was cut short by a sudden sideways movement, and she opened her eyes to find he’d shifted them even further behind the cover of the large pillars. He pushed her up against it, making sure she stayed on a step that kept her closer to his own height. He was looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes and his hands were sliding from her hips, to her thighs, to the hem of her sundress. His voice was deeper and laced with adrenaline when he finally spoke. “Yes, please.”

The stone pillar behind her was cold, but her shivers were completely unrelated to its temperature. Hermione closed her eyes as he kissed her hungrily and kept them shut when his lips strayed from her mouth, traveling down her throat to follow the chain of her necklace down to the dragon pendant. She felt him crush against her as he bent down, the column keeping her in place. His hands were making the return trip up her legs, this time touching her bare skin with the lightest of touches as he dragged the dress upward. When they reached her hips, he pulled back and looked at her questioningly.

She nodded her consent, watching as he pushed the skirt of her dress up to see the item he’d demanded. He knelt so that his head was almost to her midriff. His eyes followed his fingers reverently as they traced the spangled piece of cotton covering her mound. Draco ran a hand over her hip and used it to turn her around so she faced the pillar. “Hold this.” He pushed the handfuls of fabric into her hands.

Hermione felt his fingertips once again trace the pattern of sparkles on the cotton fabric, this time across her buttocks. His fingers followed the waistline of her knickers, then the leg openings from back to front. She jumped when she felt Draco’s warm lips press into the dimples in her lower back. “Turn around, please.”

She complied automatically, and knew she’d do whatever he asked in that tone of voice. He was still crouched before her, but now he began to stand up. His hands were on her hips, fingers hooking under the sides of her knickers. As Draco began drawing them off her, he engaged her mouth in a covetous kiss. She let go of her dress, letting it fall to cover her wizard’s hands. Over her hips the fabric slid until it fell from her thighs into a little pool around her ankles. Draco pulled away from her lips. “I believe those are mine, Miss Granger.”

He knelt again, lifting each of her legs to draw his prize from her body. Finally Draco stood, the scrap of cotton dangling from his forefinger. He looked down at her triumphantly.

She said awkwardly, “They’re a bit damp. I’d apologize, but it’s your fault.”

If she’d had any doubts at all of his desire for her, they would have been quelled in that moment. Draco’s eyes darkened, and he closed a white-knuckled fist around the knickers. He kissed her forcefully, pushing his tongue into her mouth once, twice and then drawing back to murmur against her lips, “Are you saying I made you wet, Hermione?”

He’d never said anything so crass . . . so overtly sexual to her before, and her body’s response was a rush of even more fluid between her legs.  _ I want Draco to say filthy things to me. _ Hermione hardly recognized her own voice as she moaned his name. “Dracooo . . .” 

She yanked at his robes, needing him to be even closer. His response was to pin her to the column, one muscular thigh wedged between hers. “Let me stand between your legs,” he said in a dark, desperate tone.

She’d barely bent her knee before he took it in his hand, holding it hooked around his hip. In less than a second his hips rocked against hers, and the hard length of his erection seemed to fuse to her seam despite their clothes. Hermione clung to his shoulders while Draco’s other hand grasped her arse, and they moved together in sensation so pleasurable it bordered on agony. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot and heavy across her face as he tried to speak. “ _ Sweet. Circe. Hermione.”  _

The hand clutching her leg still gripped her discarded knickers. She felt the cotton fabric rub back and forth against the skin of her thigh as their bodies moved together. Draco’s other hand relaxed its grip on her backside and moved upward. He wove it into her hair and tugged at it, drawing her head back for a series of uncoordinated, rough kisses.

Hermione forgot everything else but the coil quickly winding up within her. She arched her back, aligning her body with his so that his erection rubbed in a soothing, maddening line from her center to her clitoris. She released her grip on his shoulder to grab hold of his hair again, pulling on the soft pale locks, and when he groaned into her mouth her other hand followed suit. Sweat formed along her upper lip and ran down the middle of her back, despite the fact that it seemed they had only just started. The coil wound tighter and tighter with each minute that passed, and she knew that release was imminent. “Mmmm, Draco, I’m— O-o-o-o-oh . . . Draco!“

The pulsing ache suddenly gave way to the earth-shattering relief of orgasm. She sagged in Draco’s arms as her body went limp. Her wizard thrust once more against her seam and went stiff against her for a moment, choking out her name as his hands squeezed her hip and handful of hair reflexively. 

The two sank in a heap at the base of the column, Hermione straddling Draco’s hips. She kissed him in noodle-limbed euphoria, wrapping her arms around his neck and dropping her head to his broad shoulder. 

Draco returned her attentions, pressing his mouth to her cheeks and mouth in reverent kisses. His entire body seemed as relaxed as hers, and his eyes had a languid, sated look. After a while he said, “That’s about seven down.”

“Seven what?”

“Fantasies.” 

“What do you mean?”

He dropped his head down onto her shoulder and spoke against the sensitive skin of her neck. “We’ve just done things I’ve thought about doing with you for years -- trysting with you in the middle of a school day; running my hands up your bare legs under your dress; taking off your knickers; hearing you cry my name like that.”

“Mmmmm. That was only four.” She stroked his hair back around his ear, cradling him in her arms contentedly for a moment. Eventually, though, they both pulled away from each other apologetically, speaking at once.

“Sorry, but I need—“

“Draco, I—“ She smiled. “You go first.”

Draco was still flushed from their recent activity, but to Hermione it looked as though he was blushing as well. “I’m sorry, but I really need to clean myself up.” He was sliding her gently off his lap and standing, pulling her up with him. The blond wizard drew out his wand, aimed it in the general area of his groin, and muttered a quiet  _ Scourgify _ . The young witch winced as she thought about her recent magical scrubbings at Lucius’ hands. She hoped Draco had used less vigor with that spell on such a tender place. 

“I was going to ask you to do the same for me because I’m still wandless. Will you, please?” Blushing, she lifted an eyebrow at his satisfied smirk, and then followed his gaze to the lower front of her dress, where a traitorous trail of wet fabric marked their activity. Hermione groaned. “I don’t see how that’s funny, Draco! Please set me straight before everyone knows what we’ve been doing!”

She shifted uncomfortably. Her wizard leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her mouth. “I’m not laughing, little witch. I’m just very happy,” he paused to run his hand over the wet spot, making sure she felt his touch through her dress, “to have such an effect on you.”

Less than a minute later, sufficiently clean and dried, she sank back down onto a seated Draco’s lap, her legs spread around his hips. He pulled her as close to his torso as she could possibly get and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I think I want to keep you right here from now on.”

“I won’t put up much of a fight. Although it might hinder the fulfillment of any of your other fantasies.”

“Excellent point, Miss Granger. Perhaps just a few more minutes, though.”

“Tell me the other three.” She studied his handsome face, tracing his features with her finger.

Draco caught her finger in his mouth, holding it gently between his teeth for a moment. He looked at her shyly and dropped his eyes. His fingers began toying with her dragon pendant. “I’m sure seven was a conservative estimate. Let’s see . . . well, the way you responded to my less than gentlemanly—“

Impishly, she interrupted his endearing effort to maintain decorum. “Filthy-mouthed Draco?”

He blushed. “Yes.”

Hermione dropped a kiss onto his beautiful mouth. She whispered, “I liked that. Tell me the other two.”

Her encouragement seemed to give him boldness. Draco’s voice came from the neckline of her sweater, where he was running his lips over her collarbones. “Having you wrapped around me, pulling at my hair.”

“Well, it’s the perfect length to use for leverage. One more, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco raised his head, looking directly at her. “Being kissed by you like that – being wanted like that. I’ve dreamed of that for years, Hermione.” His eyes burned her with their intense gaze.  _ My Draco. _

They curled around each other in silence for some time. Hermione’s brain resumed its usual whirr of thought, however, and finally she said, “You seemed vehemently opposed to . . .  _ what we just did _ . . . just two days ago.”

Draco’s hand had made its way under the hem of her dress to wrap around her lower thigh at some point, and the other was running through her curls. Their end of the huge courtyard was still silent except for the sounds of their quiet voices. “I was  _ never _ opposed to an act of such mutual pleasure. However, I’m not supposed to put you in any situation that could be compromising, and I think we came close to that today.”

“Yes, removing my knickers and then . . .” It was  _ her _ turn to dance around words.

“Can you even say it?” He pressed a kiss to her neck.

His challenge hung in the air between them for only a moment. “Of course I can! That doesn’t mean I want to.”

“Say it,” he dared, and she could feel his mouth curl into a smile against the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“ _ Fine _ , Draco. You  _ stole _ my knickers and then we ground against each other desperately until we both climaxed. In a public place.” 

Draco lifted his head and kissed her. His mouth was soft at first, plying her lips with gentle movements that slowly gained in fervor until their tongues moved against each other sensuously. She flinched when she felt fabric brush across her cheek, realizing almost immediately that it was her knickers, still bunched in his hand. 

He was pulling away, eyes going back and forth between her own and the handful of cotton he was holding to her cheek. Hermione managed to tease, albeit breathlessly, “Now you have a pair for each trouser pocket.”

“That should suffice for a few hours.”

She giggled. “I’ll eventually run out, you know.”

“Not my problem.” He smirked.

Something was stirring beneath her, and she looked down at his groin, then up at his face. His eyes had lost that drowsy, contented aspect and were looking back at her speculatively. She questioned, “Really?”

Hermione expected him to blush, or at least drop her gaze. Instead cocky, confident Draco remained, to Hermione’s thrilled delight. He tipped his head forward, angling it so that his response brushed against the corner of her mouth. “Give me another minute, and I’ll be ready to go again.”


	41. Tuesday - Early Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Tuesday - Early Afternoon

They stayed at the base of the column for some time, wrapped around each other. Draco’s mouth tormented Hermione’s with little kisses that tasted of want and need. His hands pulled at the waist of her dress, urging her to melt against him, and his erection pressed against the apex of her legs, that place where every nerve in her body seemed to originate. Her wizard wanted more, it seemed.  _ So do I. I want much, much more. _

The soft glimmer of the covenant shimmered along the outer rim of her awareness, only somewhat distracting her from what Draco’s tongue was presently doing to hers. Its emotions brushed against her consciousness – first satisfaction, and then amusement, and finally a vague feeling of caution.

_ Mmmmm. We’ll stop. Soon. _ Draco’s lips traveled across her cheek to the lobe of her ear, where he nibbled and sucked and tugged until she whispered his name mid-gasp. She brought her hands between their bodies, tracing the dips and swells of his well-muscled chest and shoulders.  _ I want to see all this without clothes in the way. _ Her fingers traveled down his abdominal muscles, feeling as they flexed beneath her touch.

Draco devoted his attention to her neck now, laving it with his tongue between open-mouthed kisses and gentle bites. His hands seemed restless, pulling at her dress and then moving to clutch her backside, until Hermione realized he was working the skirt of her dress up and out of his way. All at once it was around her waist, her wizard was running his hands over her bare arse, and she felt the soft fabric of his trousers pressed against her most sensitive flesh.

Hermione’s hands traveled back up Draco’s torso to his pectorals, fingers tensed with the sudden sensory feedback. They inadvertently ran over his nipples, causing them to tighten and a shiver to run through his body. The young witch catalogued the apparent cause and effect, repeating her actions several times until the experiment proved itself.

He pulled away from her neck, groaning. “ _ Gods _ , Hermione – your skin is so soft . . . I want to take this dress off you right here and now.”

The covenant reached out to her again, still satisfied but strongly cautioning. “ _ Gaaaah _ . Not here. Not now. We should stop.” 

At that same moment Draco’s large hands found purchase on her hips and he ground her against his erection. The ensuing pleasure was so intense that she cried out his name softly. He watched her with heated eyes as he repeated the motion. “Say my name again.”

“Draco! It feels so good.  _ Please _ .” She felt a familiar prickling sensation run over her physical brain. “I mean, no!” Her hands seemed to act of their own accord, scratching down over his shirt-clad abdomen.

He moaned and moved her in another pass over his hard shaft. “I want you. Do you want me, Hermione?”

His words sent a frisson of acute desire through her system. “Oh, yes! But we need to stop!” She pressed her lips against his hungrily but pulled away and added, “The covenant says we need to stop!”

“ _ No _ , no stopping.” His tone was frustrated as he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his, but his hands left her hips and smoothed down her dress.

The prickling sensation returned, and with it vivid memories of the recent warnings given by the covenant. Draco’s lips moved against hers sensuously as if to sway her decision.  _ Must stop. Now _ . She broke their kiss abruptly, drawing her hand out from between them as she gave her head a shake to clear it. “As much as I’d  _ really _ like to continue . . .”

“For Merlin’s sake, don’t stop,” Draco half-begged, half-demanded. His soft, husky voice falling directly into her ear was almost her undoing. Their renewed activity had aroused her beyond want, and she felt the pulse of need coursing through her nerves again.  _ We could be quick . . .  _ She resisted the temptation to continue on for just a bit longer, though, when the covenant once again made its feelings known. 

She sighed in her own frustration and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. He made a whining noise. Draco was actually pouting as she climbed off his lap and then dragged him up by a hand to stand as well. Even in her current state Hermione couldn’t help but be amused. “I don’t know why you’re sulking, Draco. We’ve had our fun, and in a few days we won’t ever have to say ‘we should stop’ again.” To herself she added sotto voce, “hopefully.”

He gave her a tortured look, pulling her against him once more. “I may not last a few days, Hermione. I want you  _ here _ and  _ now _ .”

_ He sounds like Harry!  _ “Well I, for one, am glad my first time with you won’t be against a stone column with a potential audience of two hundred familiar faces,” she teased, trying to lighten his mood and ignore the way her body was thrumming. She forced her limbs to refrain from wrapping around him. _ I’m doing this for our own good, Draco.  _ Hermione escaped his clutches and moved closer to the opening of the portico. Glancing up as she sat down on a step, she motioned self-consciously to the front of her wizard’s trousers.  _ That’s what comes from not wearing knickers.  _ “You might want to . . . you know.”

When he had performed a quick cleaning spell to the fabric and joined her on the step, she added, “Besides, the covenant is trying to tell me something. I’m . . . I’m trying to do a better job of listening to it.”

He slumped down at her side, managing to make even that movement graceful. Draco looked at her mournfully. “So you and the covenant are conspiring against me.”

“Yes, you silly snake. We want you to suffer horribly for all the sweet, romantic, naughty things you’ve been inflicting on me!” She reached out and took his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together. “Draco, I don’t want to stop, either. But your family magic has taken residence in my mind, and it seems to want to keep me from trouble. I made a mess of things the first time it tried to stop me from doing what I wanted. That won’t happen again. If the covenant says ‘stop’, we stop.” 

The words, spoken with more conviction than she actually felt, seemed to convince her own body and she felt the painful ache of desire abate just a bit. The cold stone step beneath her helped, too, as it chilled her lower half.  _ Brrrrr.  _

He sighed heavily. “And I stop when you say so.”

Hermione leaned against his shoulder. “For the record, I wanted to continue what we were doing.”

Draco gave another self-pitying sound. “Perhaps we should talk about something else.”

“Arithmancy?” She quipped lightly. “Because I have the funniest story to tell you. It all started when I tried to run an equation with a predetermined outcome in mind . . .”

Hermione prattled away with determination. Many minutes later, Draco finally spoke. “I was sure, at first, that Luna was giving a prophecy, but no one else seemed to notice. It gave me pause enough to doubt. And  _ you _ ! You will  _ listen _ to the covenant immediately and at all times!”

The role reversal was so sudden that Hermione laughed outright. “Oh,  _ all right _ , ‘pot’!”

Realization dawned across his handsome face, and he offered an abashed grimace. “Point taken. Oh, and,” he added in an obvious attempt to regain the upper hand in the conversation, “No more skewed Arithmancy, either.”

“Believe me – I know. No need to rub it in.” The cold step was numbing her backside, and she needed to move. “Want to walk back out to the courtyard?”

“Well, I would, only I’m having some difficulty with blood flow at the moment.” Draco shifted uncomfortably.

She winced apologetically. “Still all in one spot?”

“Yes.” He jutted his lower lip out and scowled. 

_ He’s adorable. _ “Oh, my poor Draco. I’ll make it up to you soon.”

This seemed to appease him somewhat. He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers in a sweet kiss. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart with a pair of naughty knickers.” She bit her lip, fighting the evil smile that threatened to break through.

Draco gave a groan. “Have mercy, little witch.” He pulled her into his arms for another tender kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his neck lovingly.

Finally she drew away and stood, rubbing her thighs and bottom with brisk strokes of her hands. Draco looked amused until she said somewhat crossly, “These stones are cold, and I happen to have one less layer on than you, Draco. My bum is frozen! And, no – I don’t need you to help warm it.” She added the last part when he held out his hands and opened his mouth to speak around a smirk.

The covenant, which had curled around her consciousness, seemed to stretch and give itself a flickering shake. Hermione focused. This time there was a particular alertness to the sentience, as if it had pricked up its ears at something she couldn’t see or hear.  _ I’m listening.  _ Another flicker accompanied by excitement and anticipation. Comprehension flooded Hermione’s mind.  _ Lucius! _ Her attention returned to her physical body in a rush, and she found Draco looking at her curiously.

“I think Lucius has arrived.” She set off toward the opening of the portico, gesturing for him to follow her.

Draco rose and followed her, complaining bitterly. “I should have known he’d be in on it, too. I need to have a word with that cock-blocking son of a—“ He paused and added contritely, “Please forgive me.”

“Oh, Draco!” She laughed. “Better to be interrupted by family magic and Lucius than someone else – or getting one of those awful zaps for breaking that all-seeing oath we took! Come on.”

They reached the entrance of the portico together, scanning the courtyard for signs of the elder Malfoy. He wasn’t in sight. Draco turned to Hermione. “I’m not really mad at him, you know.”

“I know. I’ve felt the same way about Harry and Ginny, and they’re the closest thing I have to family. I guess you could say they  _ are _ my family. Molly and Arthur, too.”

He looked troubled. “I’d forgotten about that. I assume they’ll all be at the reception?”

“Well, yes – of course. Molly’s planning it all, remember, and I suppose Arthur will accompany her. And of course Harry and Ginny will be there. Is that . . . does that bother you, because of Ron?”

“No, but if you consider them family, the rest of the Weasley men can’t be excluded. I suppose they’ll have to be invited.” 

There was a crease between his brows, and Hermione reached up to rub it away with her thumb. “Stop worrying. Those boys are like brothers to me, and that’s all.” Suddenly he looked very insecure.  _ Oh, my love! My Draco. _ She pulled him down by his shoulders for a kiss and continued softly, “You’re the one I chose. You and Lucius are mine.”

Brooding Draco remained, despite her efforts. She redoubled them, snaking an arm around his waist to hold him close and tipping her head back so that her chin rested against his chest. She looked up at his beautiful features. “Where will you mark me with the Malfoy rune?”

This caused a shift in his mood. He blinked at her several times. “What?”

“You heard me. Where?”

“We wouldn’t—“ He cleared his throat. “We wouldn’t make that decision without you. Do you have a preference?” His arms wrapped around her, fingers rubbing along her sides.

“I assumed, because of the binding vows . . .” She trailed off uncertainly.

Adorably moody Draco had completely vanished, and in his place was the confident, quiet Draco she was learning to love with all her heart.  _ He’s as mercurial as Lucius _ . _ I like it. _ She shivered when he gave her a solemn almost-smile and blushed, tightening his hold around her. “The three of us will decide together. A few days ago, I would have suggested the skin above your left breast, however, after seeing your thighs . . .”

_ How can we still be blushing around each other? _ Somehow it was endearing. It certainly gave her confidence, reminding her that he was as inexperienced as she, and his words bolstered her feminine ego. “You . . . like my legs?” 

He nodded slowly. “I am becoming increasingly enamored of your body with each new part bared to me.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at his words. They were sensual, but delivered in the romantic way that Draco so often used. It made her swoon, and her body sagged in his arms as her knees buckled.  _ I want to show him more parts of me. _ The desire she had fought so hard to control broke free again, coursing through her veins like Fiendfyre. She whispered his name, raising her hands up and around his neck to drag him down for a kiss.

It was Draco’s turn to pull away, saying in a teasing tone, “You said we’re supposed to stop.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re right. What I need is a distraction from you.”

“Perhaps we should go find your ‘brother’ and search out Lucius. He’ll probably have been given permission to Portkey to the Headmaster’s office.”

Hermione nodded and began to disentangle herself from Draco’s arms. He stopped her, though, and concluded their original conversation first. “You’re right, you know – I’m yours. It won’t matter who’s at the reception, because when you take the Malfoy rune,” here he cupped her breast, watching as his hand closed around the small, lush mound of flesh, “everyone will know you’ve claimed the Malfoy House as your own. They’ll know that you’ve claimed  _ me. _ ”

He cradled her cheek and kissed her tenderly, imbuing the action with a depth of feeling that made Hermione’s heart feel as though it would physically burst.  _ Mine _ . When they pulled apart, they were both grinning like madmen. They set off across the courtyard hand in hand, talking as they went.

“I’ll miss my handmark.” She pulled her hand out of his to hold it up in front of her, watching the shining silver dragon almost glow in the bright sunlight.

Draco reached for her hand again. He pushed up the sleeve of her cardigan, running his fingers along the length of the mark. “As will I, but it’s only meant to last until the rune is taken. We can have a picture taken of it, if you like. That’s sometimes done.”

“I would like that, very much so. And, you should know . . .”

He looked down at her with eyes the color of the clearest, calmest sea, waiting for her question. She shook herself out of her Draco-induced haze. “I’m completely yours.”

They walked slowly, and reached the crowded end of the courtyard a few minutes later. Vince and Greg seemed to have spent their time with an eye towards the portico, because they both stood as soon as Draco and Hermione came into sight and nodded their heads in greeting. The blond wizard acknowledged them both with a nod of his own, but led the young witch on past them in search of Harry.

They walked through the groups of gathered students, working their way around the outdoor area. Everyone wanted to say hello and ask if they had any new information about the current situation, and Draco surprised Hermione by pausing to converse briefly but pleasantly with many of their peers. She herself would have blown them off with a quick wave of greeting, but her wizard was obviously of a different mind. The young witch was puzzled at first, but finally realized that Draco was talking mainly to wizards with whom they shared classes or were in Gryffindor. He stood with his arm around her shoulders, holding her close to his side, and in his fingers he played with her dragon charm. Her eyes narrowed and her frame stiffened momentarily as a lightning bolt of comprehension hit her.  _ He’s marking his territory.  _ She craned her head to aim a withering glare at him, but the happy look on his face reduced it to a condescending eye roll at the last minute. Draco’s answering smirk told her he knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing.

Eventually he worked his way through the relatively small crowd of students, and the two set about checking all the secluded corners of the courtyard. They came upon such a place, and Hermione stopped so quickly that Draco ran into her from behind. He caught her in his arms as she pitched forward gracelessly and then the two froze as if turned to stone, unable to look away from what they’d stumbled upon. There before them in the grass of the quiet spot were her ‘brother’ and his girls, immersed in an act of ménage a trois. 

The noise alone should have been a cue to stop before they’d rounded that corner – now that she couldn’t move, the heavy sounds of pleasure practically assaulted her ears. The three were moving, writhing, connected to each other in a mass of partially clothed bodies. Harry knelt on the grass, holding Ginny’s hips up to his own as he pounded into her. The redhead’s loud, constant cries were muffled against Luna, who in turn knelt over Ginny’s face, her skirt tucked up in its waistband. The blond witch leaned forward, using Harry’s shoulders for leverage as she ground down against Ginny’s mouth, and the dark-haired wizard’s mouth was glued to one of her naked, pale-skinned breasts as she bobbed before him. The act was laid bare before the unwilling audience so that there was no room for misinterpretation, no chance of misunderstanding, and Hermione’s mouth hung open in shock for as long as she remained unmoving. Her first thought was ‘ _ oh, good – Luna’s been released’  _ followed quickly by ‘ _ gods damnit, Harry!’ _

Movement returned in a rush to Hermione and Draco mere seconds later, and they scrambled back around the stone wall. They kept their eyes averted from each other in mortification, stumbling in their haste to get away. Even now, as they fled from the spot, they could make out the sounds of Harry crying out his release. Hermione relied on Draco’s guiding hand as they walked, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head repeatedly.

Finally they stopped near the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Hermione’s face was burning, and she noticed that Draco’s ears were pink. She fought through her embarrassment with determination, giving herself an internal pep talk.  _ I’ve seen worse. I’ve seen far worse. Just not with Draco. _ _ Just start talking. Say something – anything. _ “Well . . .  _ that _ was a new position for them. Errrrr . . . what I mean is, I’m sorry that you had to see that.”

Draco looked at her uncertainly, but said quietly, “I take no issue with the act itself, but it wasn’t meant for an audience.” He looked away briefly. “Let’s sit here while we wait.”

It wasn’t very long before Harry and his girls came into view, much to Hermione’s relief. The three of them looked surprisingly put-together, at least from a distance. She called out to them. “Harry! Gin and Lu! Over here – come over here!”

On closer examination she discovered they were, in fact, quite rumpled.  _ At least their clothes are on and . . . well, mostly fastened. _ They collapsed in the grass beside her, and Luna gave her an enthusiastic hug. Hermione reciprocated the gesture warmly, gagging slightly on the competing smells of sweat and sex that seemed to hang over her friend like a fog. “How did you get through screening so quickly – I thought it would be tomorrow at the earliest for you!”

The blond witch beamed. “I told them about the baby! Pregnant witches were given priority, of course.”

“Errrrr . . . there were others?” Ginny had sat down on Hermione’s other side, and the redhead acknowledged her with a shoulder bump. “Hi, Gin. Your sweater’s buttoned up wrong.”

Ginny waved away the information unconcernedly as Luna replied, “Well, no, ‘Mione – this is a school. It would be highly irregular for students to be getting pregnant, now, wouldn’t it?”

“But you—never mind. Yes, you’re right. I’m so glad to see you, Lu.” She turned her attention to Harry, who was flopped down on the grass with a euphoric look on his face. “Harry, I hate to ask, but—“

He raised his head and grinned. “Where to?”

“Headmaster’s office?” She smiled back gratefully, adding, “Might want to zip your fly.”

He dragged himself to his feet. “Well, come on, then! Let’s get you where you need to go so I can have a nap . . . or something. You girls want to come?”

Ginny hopped up immediately. “I’m in. I haven’t seen ‘Mione in ages. We can catch up on the way.”

Luna, however, waved him away with a sweet smile, saying innocently, “You know I love coming with you, Harry, but I think this once I’ll get started on that nap.”

Hermione peeked at Draco to find him biting back a smirk as he stood. He crooked a finger at her, and his eyes positively twinkled as he said, “Do you want to come, Miss Granger?”


	42. Tuesday - Afternoon (still!)

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Tuesday - Afternoon (still!)

The walk across the castle was segregated by gender, with Draco and Harry walking ahead and the girls trailing as far back as possible, so they could catch up in private. Hermione would have happily walked arm in arm with her friend except for the fact that she reeked of sex, and said as much. She omitted the fact that she had borne witness to a portion of the act itself.

Ginny huffed, but took out her wand and Scourgified her face and torso. “There – happy?”

“Yes, that’s much, much better. I can breathe through my nose now. Thank you.” Hermione took a deep breath and looked at the redhead curiously. “What was quarantine like in the Great Hall?”

“Completely unremarkable. We all queued up by house and answered a bunch of questions, and then got sorted into priority groups.”

“What kinds of questions?”

Ginny snorted “Well, the first one was ‘have you had sexual relations with Ronald Weasley in the past year’.”

Hermione laughed, imagining Ginny’s reaction to that. “What happened then?”

“I may have gotten a bit screechy, but the important thing is I didn’t get asked any more questions. I was sent for immediate screening, bumped into Luna, and we shared a cot. She’s quite clever, you know.” Her tone was thoughtful for the last part.

“She’s  _ something _ ; I’ll give her that much. What will you three do now?”

“Well, that all depends on you, I guess – are you planning to stay?”

Hermione felt guilty at once, knowing Harry was bound to remain if she chose to do so. “I don’t know for sure, but Lucius said he wants to free Harry of his duties as chaperone as soon as possible. Draco made it sound as if that might even happen today.”

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll probably go to Grimmauld Place, then. I sent mum an owl before I went to the courtyard; hopefully she’ll be able to send a note soon.”

“Do you know when they were contacted about Ron and the . . . bug?”

“Madame Pomfrey came to assure me that the Headmaster contacted the Burrow straight away, and they all went to St. Mungo’s immediately. My guess is they’re all fine, since Ron’s been at school except for that quick visit last weekend.”

“Your poor mum.”

“Please – we’re talking about  _ my mum _ . First she’ll make sure everyone else is okay, then she’ll kill Ron, and then she’ll go make a cake or something. She’s indomitable.”

“Ginny! She’s still getting over the fact that Ron is probably being weeded from the family, and now she has to deal with the fact that he spread a highly contagious STD all over Hogwarts! I think she might not make any cakes for a while.”  _ Speaking of cakes _ . . .  _ I wonder how involved Molly was going to be in the execution of her plans for my wedding. _

“Hermione, listen. I’m not saying she won’t be upset, but my mum doesn’t sit around and cry. She takes action, works it all out of her system, and then she’s done with it. And then there’s the Weasley covenant – it will be there to comfort our family, especially mum.”

Hermione wasn’t convinced, and Ginny continued, “I can think of one thing that she’d really like, though . . .”

“What?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to pressure you – but it couldn’t be done without you . . .”

“Anything! I’d love to help your mum any way I can, Gin.” The thought of a less-than-vibrant Molly filled Hermione with protective concern.

The redhead had a suspiciously triumphant gleam in her eye. “Great! Invite her over for another breakfast as soon as she’s able to attend!”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Hermione’s outraged shriek drew the attention of the two wizards walking in front of them. Draco slowed until she caught up with him and drew her under his arm, against his side.

“And invite Minerva and Astoria as well – she adores those two. What?” Ginny looked at Hermione with wide eyes. “It would mean the world to her, and you  _ said _ you wanted to help . . .”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Draco’s soft, low voice and inherent scent steadied her somewhat. She pushed her nose against his robes, filling her lungs with the fragrance of her Amortentia.

“I was just talking with Ginny about doing something nice for Molly.”

Ginny exclaimed, “I knew you’d do it! Thank you!” 

“Wait a—“ 

Her wizard interrupted her. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Hermione.”

Just as Hermione was about to argue that she hadn’t actually agreed to anything, Harry, who had dropped back to the group just now, asked her, “Did I hear you say you’d do it for us?”

Ginny was motioning to Harry, shaking her head in quick, sharp motions. Hermione, confused, responded, “Do what, exactly?”

“Harry—“

He talked over Ginny’s protest. “Errrrr, keep Molly busy for part of tomorrow. Wasn’t that what you were talking about? We’d like to,” here he looked apologetically at both Draco and Hermione, “you know, christen Grimmauld. And once Molly hears we’re moving in, she’ll be rearing to help clean the place up.”

Hermione rounded on her friend, her voice rising slowly but steadily throughout her speech until she sounded uncannily like Ginny herself. “Let me just get this straight,  _ Ginevra _ : you just manipulated me into agreeing to navigate another ‘informational breakfast’, which is nothing less than a conversational  _ minefield _ consisting of your mother’s sexual exploits, Minerva’s slightly inebriated innuendo, and Astoria’s twisted, inquiring mind, so that you and Harry and Luna can screw each other’s brains out on every surface of your new residence?! You’ve all but sentenced me to another lesson in oral sex, followed by a demonstration of orgasm by erotically tied rope!”

The hall was so silent after her outburst that they practically heard the Grey Lady pass through the wall beside them, eyeing Hermione speculatively. The curly-haired witch stomped her foot, yelling after the ghost, “Your entire house is so deviant, I’ll bet there are orgies in the common room!”

Draco looked amused, Harry sheepish, and Ginny resigned. The redhead finally said, “You don’t have to do it.”

“Just knock it off, Ginny. You’ve played your hand well, and I’ll do what I said I’d do. No more games.”

“Agreed. And thanks.” Ginny sounded sincere, and Harry nodded in fervent agreement.

“Don’t you dare thank me for walking into your trap!  _ You owe me. _ ”

They had reached the revolving staircase to the Headmaster’s office, and her friends showed no signs of following them upward. Draco turned to Harry. “Would you mind coming up for a moment? We have a few ends to tie up before you’re officially done.”

Ginny looked relieved. “Well, much as I‘d love to stay, that’s my cue to leave.” 

The curly-haired witch gave her redheaded friend an affectionate squeeze. She murmured quietly, “You’re my best friend, you know.”

When Ginny echoed the sentiment, Hermione added, “And you  _ owe _ me. Don’t forget it.” 

“Yes, yes – I owe you. But don’t forget the part where you’d be a mess without me! See you soon, and don’t leave school without at least sending a note!” She darted off, presumably to the courtyard and Luna.

At the top of the stairs, they paused just outside the open door when angry raised voices reached their ears, one of them obviously belonging to a seething Lucius. The three students stood uncertainly in the doorway, listening to the loud conversation. The argument stopped as Professor Dumbledore walked around the corner to greet them with a look of relief on his face. “Ah, I have been expecting you. Come in, come in!”

They followed him into the office, and Hermione was surprised to see Professor Vector standing in a defensive position, hands on hips and a terrible scowl on her face. The conversation seemed to be coming to an end. Lucius’ eyes went straight to Hermione, but he addressed the professor in a tone that brooked no argument. “I expect to see you in London in three weeks. You may contact Horace Graves if you have any questions.” He nodded briefly to Harry.

Professor Vector exhaled peevishly through her nose. “I’m _ not _ your  _ lackey! _ ”

“”On the contrary, Septima – you will answer to my beck and call until September, per the punishment Albus has set for you.” Hermione recognized her wizard’s dangerously soft purr, and if she hadn’t been so distracted by the fact that Lucius was slowly walking toward her, she might have been tempted to warn her teacher of the danger she was in.

Professor Vector sounded downright petulant. “It’s not a punishment, Lucius – it’s a  _ performance incentive plan _ ! He said so himself!”

“Call it what you will. I shall see you in Horace’s office in three weeks from today. I believe we are done here.” He dismissed the older witch completely as he reached Hermione, executing a low bow over her proffered left hand. 

Septima Vector turned to the Headmaster, who had busied himself at his desk with a stack of Owl Post. “Albus, please don’t do this! Surely there is something else—“

Professor Dumbledore raised a hand in a halting gesture, effectively silencing the professor. “I’m afraid there isn’t, Septima. If you are truly unhappy with my decision, you may of course address it with the board of governors.”

She squawked. “But  _ he, _ ” she jabbed a finger at Lucius, “is the  _ chairman _ of the board!”

Lucius took a deep breath and worked his jaw muscle for a moment. Without turning toward Septima Vector he answered her in a tense, clipped fashion. “Then I suggest you do not try my patience. Good day,  _ Professor _ .” With that, he pulled Hermione into his arms, disregarding the others, and kissed her soundly.

Hermione’s senses dulled to everything but the feel of her wizard – his arms held her close, his fingers curled around her sides, and his mouth -- dear, sweet Merlin, his mouth! He pressed his mouth to hers forcefully, claiming the kiss she’d denied him earlier. Lucius did nothing half-heartedly, and although he seemed to be keeping their audience in mind, his lips and tongue moved against hers until she was in danger of melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. When they finally broke apart, the young witch was breathless.

The only sounds were of the Headmaster’s quill scratching across a piece of parchment and the slam of the door. Apparently, Professor Vector had taken the hint. Hermione looked around, blinking away her fog of lust. Harry was grinning, but Draco looked positively aroused. She held his gaze as she stood in Lucius’ embrace, shocked when her first impulse was to beckon him close enough for a kiss.  _ Just like my dreams.  _ Blushing, she dropped her eyes. Lucius broke the brief silence. “Now to the next order of business. Mr. Potter, I’m very glad to see you. Your help during our courtship has been invaluable.”

He nodded toward Harry again, and the two shook hands in a formal way. Hermione rolled her eyes at the gesture and dragged Harry down for a fierce hug. “Thank you, Harry! I . . . I’m so very pleased to think of you as my brother.” 

She turned toward Professor Dumbledore, who had stopped working as soon as the professor had exited the office. “Thank you, sir, for representing me all these years without me even knowing it. And for getting me to accept the war-stake, although I still don’t approve of your methods.”

The Headmaster gave a knowing smile. “I wish you the greatest happiness, Miss Granger.” He paused for a moment and then turned to Lucius. “Perhaps we should begin?”

A short ceremony followed, during which Harry was absolved of his duties. Her wizards presented him with a small sealed chest, which he opened at their urging. Inside, wrapped in sheets of the finest vellum, was a relatively small, obviously old, book. Harry opened it carefully and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He thanked Lucius and Draco profusely, and Hermione was instantly intrigued. She looked at Draco, who responded with a look that plainly said ‘ _ don’t ask now’ _ . It took her a moment, but comprehension dawned eventually.  _ Must be sex-oriented. Well, that’s a fitting gift for Harry. Well done, Lucius. _ She made a note to ask one of them about it later.

Whatever Harry had seen in that book lit a fire under him, because he wasted no time in taking leave of them, adjusting his trousers along the way. The Headmaster made his own excuse of needing to Floo Aberforth and reminded them that he would be in his rooms should they need anything. Suddenly Hermione was alone with her wizards.

Lucius reached out his arms toward her, and she went back to them willingly. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and sighed heavily. After a moment he said quietly, “The school is closed except as a place of quarantine, and Albus has agreed that you should come to the Manor with us. I require you both to pack and be ready to depart as soon as possible. We are only awaiting the arrival of the new chaperone.” 

Draco nodded. “I’ll begin at once. It should take no more than an hour at most. Then I’ll hunt down the Ice Queen and bring her back with me.” He left the office immediately, but not before leaning in to where she was snuggled into Lucius’ chest and kissing her until she was dizzy.  _ The three of us together, just like my dreams.  _ The temperature in the room seemed to spike with this thought, and she felt her cheeks flush with something other than embarrassment.

“Unfortunately, since you sent Harry on his way with what could only be some ancient form of pornographic material, I’m stuck in this office until the new chaperone shows up.”  _ I’m surprised Lucius didn’t think of that. _ She added, “Who’s the ‘Ice Queen’?” 

He chuckled, and the sound traveled from his chest through her body. “It was an old copy of the family compilation of sexual positions and erotic technique. Nothing so crass as pornography, pet. And I have plans for you that do not involve packing, if you are interested.” His hands ran up and down her back lightly several times.

_ Lucius has plans for me _ . “That depends; you’ll have to tell me more. Start with the ‘Ice Queen’, please.” Hermione arched her back under his touch as a shiver ran along her spine.

He walked her backward until she bumped into one of the high window sills lining the alcove and lifted her to sit on it. “Your chaperone’s personality leaves something to be desired as far as Draco and I are concerned, but she is extremely competent.”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled, and she looked up at Lucius. “Will I hate her?”

He laughed again. “Perhaps, but you need only endure her until we are wed. Besides, I am not inclined to make things altogether pleasant for you after your repeated flouting of the rules.”

Comprehension dawned on her. “The ‘tower’ you mentioned was a metaphor, wasn’t it – and she’s part of it.”

“Very good, my prize. And if you stray so much as one room away from your chaperone, I shall fit you with a collar and bell.” He leaned to press a soft kiss to her mouth. “Do not test me.”

“Who’s going to do the packing, and what will I be doing?” Hermione reached around the back of Lucius head and unclasped his hair so that she could run her fingers through the thick, pale blond locks. 

Lucius gave a soft moan of pleasure as her fingernails dragged gently along his scalp. “Permit me to send a house elf to box your belongings. I wish to spend your time in more rewarding ways.” He kissed her again, his lips and tongue teasing hers until she was slightly dizzy and clinging to him for support.

“I suppose that would be all right, but my books need to be packed carefully!” Even under the influence of Lucius, her books came to mind. “Oh, and—“ 

He silenced her with another hungry kiss, finally pulling back to call out quietly, “Trinket!”

There was the unmistakable ‘pop’ that accompanied Apparition, and a rather smartly clothed house elf curtsied before them. “Trinket is here to serve the Lord and Lady, sir!”

“Please go to the Lady’s current room and pack her belongings. They should be taken to her room at the Manor as soon as possible. If you require help, please call for Bowly.”

“Trinket requires no help! Trinket will do as her master asks at once!” With another ‘pop’ the little elf was gone.

_ They’ve given her clothes!  _ Hermione’s mind was whirring away. Normally she would balk at the mere idea of asking a house elf to serve her, but obviously this Trinket was free to do so by choice. She looked at Lucius speculatively. “I don’t suppose she could find the book you gave me? I had it with me the night . . . that is to say, I had it until yesterday afternoon, and then it went missing.”

Her wizard narrowed his eyes. “Along with your wand.”

“Errrr, yes. I don’t suppose there’s some way I can get it back any time soon?”

“We will contact St. Mungo’s later tonight regarding your wand. As for the book, I will ask Albus for help in retrieving it before we leave.” He raised a hand and rubbed his forefinger against her bottom lip. Rub, rub, rub. “Enough talk, pet.”

  
  
  
  



	43. Tuesday - Late Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Tuesday - Late Afternoon 

Lucius watched as his thumb brushed back and forth against Hermione’s bottom lip. Rub, rub, rub. “There was the softest of glows to your face when you entered this place with Draco, and your eyes spoke of a certain kind of contentment. So tell me, pet – whatever have you been up to this afternoon?”

Hermione blushed.  _ Does he want me to talk about what I did with Draco? _ “I’ve been in the courtyard with Draco.”

“Have you been enjoying yourself while I was away?” Her wizard picked up the cane lying beside her, using it to push her curls behind her ear. The tender pull against her hair caused goose bumps to break out along her skin. “Hmmm?”

Her blush deepened. She whispered, “Yes.”

“What did you do with him?” When she opened her mouth in protest, he added, “He will tell me everything later, in any case. However, I would like to hear it from your own lips.” As he said that last word, he ran the sun-warmed silver across them.

_ He does want me to tell him _ . Her heart began pounding. “We . . . oh, for Circe’s sake, Lucius!”

Lucius murmured, “This is the way of a pureblood marriage, pet. We three are bound together.” 

He pushed the open-mouthed snakehead of his cane against her lips gently until the upper jaw of the snake slid between them. “He and I will speak of you, and you will speak of us until there are no secrets, no boundaries. Our pleasure will be tripled.” He drew the snakehead from her mouth slowly. Hermione’s tongue darted out at the last minute to run against the warm metal. Lucius’ eyes darkened, and he repeated the gesture. This time he pushed the entire snakehead into her mouth, watching intently as her jaw opened to receive it fully. “Such a perfect mouth.”

Hermione’s mouth was so full of sculpted silver that she was unable to close it fully, and her tongue slid into the serpent’s own open mouth.  _ I know what he’s thinking, and I want to learn to please him that way . . .  _ Arousal coursed through her system at the thought. Lucius used his free hand to tug her head back by a handful of hair and looked down on her lustfully. He slowly withdrew the mouthful, wiping the gathered drool from her lower lip as she swallowed. She felt him dry the silver snakehead on the front of her cardigan in slow strokes between her breasts. “Soon you will take your rightful place as wife to the House of Malfoy, and we will fulfill our binding vows to you. What do you think of that, my lovely?”

“Nnnngh.” He kissed her yet again, slowly and sensuously until her hands were gripping handfuls of his hair and her legs were trying to separate enough to wrap around his hips. Lucius’ large hands prevented her from doing so, however, much to her frustration. 

He ended the kiss, pulling away just enough so that his lips still moved lightly against her as he spoke. “Tell me.”

The senior Malfoy ran the smooth back of the snakehead along the line of her jaw. “We . . . Luciuuuuus!” Hermione half heartedly protested, knowing she would eventually cave to his demand. The metal was tracing down her neck, then along the neckline of her cardigan, but now he had turned it so that the snake’s fangs dragged lightly against her skin in the slightest of tickling sensations. Her hands were full of the fabric of his robes now, trying with all of her might to draw him closer as she arched her chest toward him.

He raised an imperious eyebrow and dragged the head of the cane down to the swell of her breast, tracing its small curve. Her breath caught in her throat, anticipating his next movement.  _ Yes, please _ . “You will learn to let go of your inhibitions.” Slowly, so slowly, the snakehead trailed down to the tip of her breast, commencing the pattern to which she had been conditioned, and her nipple knotted immediately in response. In fact, her entire body responded. Hermione felt a hot flush spread under her skin and an ache begin in her core. She groaned through clenched teeth and pushed into his touch. He tutted disapprovingly, drawing down his expressive eyebrows, and the cane stopped its pleasurable assault. “Words, my prize.”

“I’ll give you words, but only in exchange for something of value.”  _ Two can play this game. _

Lucius’ impassive face barely moved, but Hermione recognized the heat and subtle satisfaction in his gaze. “Ah. You’d like incentive.”

She nodded firmly and steeled her resolve.  _ There’s no reason to feel self-conscious about something I enjoyed so much. He’s right – I need to let go of these silly inhibitions. Especially with him.  _ Lucius leaned down to her ear, switching the snakehead to the other nipple at the same time. Rub, rub, rub. “I will make you come by my hand right here, and I will swallow the sound of you crying my name. Do you consider that to be of sufficient value?”

She felt a rush of wetness between her legs and suddenly wished she were wearing knickers. The moisture trickled over her skin, causing her to try to squeeze her slender thighs together to stop it. Lucius seemed to know exactly what had happened. He moved his cane at an agonizing pace down over each of her ribs, across her stomach, and eventually traced it over the top of her mound. The smooth back of the snakehead pushing gently against her pubic bone hinted at a more pleasing pressure point, teasing every nerve until her hips tried to wriggle in response. His hand still restrained her thighs, and she felt his erection pressing against her hip. “Would you like that, pet?”

She nodded furiously, realizing she had just lost any power with such a display of eagerness, and sensed her other mistake when he withdrew his cane.  _ Words. _ “Yes, of course I would!”

He stood to his full height, looming over her. “Tell me what I wish to know.”

“We— ah!” The cane resumed its former maddening action, now back and forth between her nipples. “Took a walk in the courtyard. Oh, do that again! Lucius!” The last part came out as a yelp of protest.

He had withdrawn the cane and its sensory input, narrowing his eyes at her. “Surely you can do better than that.”

“”I can, and will – just don’t stop,” Hermione breathed. She closed her eyes, remembering how she and Draco had moved together and the fire that had spread through every nerve. Lucius began teasing her body again. “We were so far away from the crowd and the portico felt so private. Draco . . . he pushed me up against a column and—“ the rest of the sentence temporarily dissolved into thin air as Lucius began unbuttoning her sweater. His mouth traced over the newly bared skin of her upper chest, and when the cardigan fell open he returned his attention to her breasts.

The fabric of her dress was lightweight, giving her wizard visible proof of his effect on her. This was especially true now that the silver, no longer drawing the heat of the sun, had cooled to the touch. “Look how your body responds to my touch, Hermione.  _ Look _ .” At his command she glanced down and was shocked to find that watching him touch her aroused her yet further. He tipped the cane’s head backward, lightly running the serrated teeth of the serpent’s mouth lightly against one taut nipple and Hermione gave a small gasp of pure pleasure. As she continued to watch, Lucius murmured against her temple. “Tell me, witch.” He pressed a tender kiss to her hairline.

Unexpectedly, Hermione found that she wanted to explain to Lucius how she had felt earlier. Her voice didn’t sound like it belonged to her; it was throaty and sensual. “He touched me the way you do. He rubbed his thumb— oh! Right there!” Lucius acted out her words as she continued, “He lifted one of my knees and I wrapped my leg around his hip. I couldn’t get close enough to him. Mmmmmmmm, Lucius . . . I want to . . .” Her voice trailed off as he laid his cane on the windowsill beside her, pushed her legs apart with one large hand, and pulled her against him in the manner she’d described. Gathering her courage, she finished in a rush, “We ground against each other, kissing and touching until we both found our release.”

Lucius’ next action was eerily similar to Draco’s earlier one. He groaned in her ear and curled his fingers around her thighs, which she had quickly wrapped around his hips, as he made one brief pass over her fabric-covered seam with his hard shaft. Almost immediately, though, he seemed to come to his senses and stepped away as if he’d been burned. The young witch growled in protest. He looked at her in chagrin and sighed, leaning one hand against the windowpane near her head. “That was not part of my plan. I am not nineteen years old, nor am I a slave to my body.” 

To Hermione it sounded as though he was arguing with himself. She understood his plight all too well.  _ At least I’m not the only one who talks to myself. _ “This is usually the part where Draco has me talk about Arithmancy,” she ventured, noticing the way his hand was clenched in a white-knuckled fist and his nostrils were flared.  _ I did that to him – I made him lose control. _ The thought was heady, and she felt a sense of satisfaction in reducing him to such impetuous behavior. The young witch added impishly, “What  _ was _ your plan, exactly?”

Lucius looked at her from the corner of his eye, trailing his eyes over her face. “It is still very much in action. Allow me one moment, please.” He turned back to peer out the window for a long minute. Finally he nodded his head and picked up his cane, running it along the neckline of her dress. “Now, we begin again.” 

Hermione decided to take matters into her own hand. Regardless of whether Lucius had a plan to follow,  _ she _ wanted to be as close to him as possible. She dragged him down to her level by the lapels of his robes and engaged his handsome mouth in a playful kiss. “I don’t want to begin  _ again _ – I want to continue from where we left off, Lucius.” When she saw from the look on his face that he was set in his decision, she amended, “Tell me your plan, at least.”

Lucius pursed his lips, drawing her attention to his mouth. She pulled at his robes again, tipping up her chin to touch her lips to his. “Tell me your plan, sir,” she whispered coyly.

He smirked, pulling back slightly. “You are a minx. I wanted to demonstrate to you one advantage of age and experience. Would you like that?”

“Does it involve you touching me?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

He chuckled. “Very much so. Now hush.” With a trace of amusement still evident on his face, he kissed her briefly and traced the head of his cane over her stomach. He murmured, “The best kind of pleasure is that which builds from anticipation.” The cool round back of the snake’s head traveled over her stomach in curving lines. 

“More,” she demanded softly, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.  _ This is going to be extremely enjoyable. _

Lucius raised his hand, and now the snakehead brushed softly against the bottoms of her breasts in his favored rhythm. He continued in his silky voice, “And anticipation is built when one is conditioned to a certain experience. For example, a particular touch.”

“Yes. More.” Her hands came up to rest over his, attempting to direct the cane’s path. 

Much to her frustration, Lucius pulled it away from her body. “Ah, ah, ah, pet. Pleasure given is always better than pleasure taken. Can you control yourself?”

“ _ Yes, Lucius,”  _ she practically growled.

He kissed her pouting lips as he brought the cane head against one neglected nipple at long last, where it flicked over the peaked flesh in a way that caused her to gasp into his mouth. “I’m going to bring you to orgasm with my cane, and whenever you see it after this, the cycle of anticipation and pleasure will begin again. This kind of pleasure, pet, is every bit as enjoyable as being rutted against like a young buck.”

The images evoked by his words caused a thrill to run along her spine, but she asked him curiously, “How will you do that?”

“Age has its advantages, pet. I cannot wait to fill you with my knowledge.” His smiling lips were eating her mouth, her jaw, her neck, and his hands were pulling her hips closer to the edge of the windowsill. “However, for the remainder of our time together, I require you to remain quiet unless you are giving voice to your pleasure or saying my name.”

“Got it – now please start. The anticipation is already killing me.” It really was. Lucius chuckled against the sensitive spot beneath her ear and she squirmed at the delightful, tickling sensation. He pulled back with a sternly raised eyebrow, and she mimed locking her lips and tucking the key down the front of her dress. Lucius followed her motions with his eyes, and the atmosphere thickened tangibly. 

First, though, he raised his cane in his hands and directed some silent, wandless spell toward it. At least, that’s what Hermione deduced when the silver head seemed to change somewhat before her eyes. She reached out a hand and stroked it tentatively while Lucius watched with dark eyes. Where it had been cool and hard before, it was now warm and firm yet yielding to her touch. Her wizard drew it away from her curious fingers and set it down on the windowsill again.

“You have lovely breasts,” he murmured, tracing their shape and then measuring their slight weight in his palms. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the window, exhaling shakily when she felt him begin teasing her nipples with his fingers and mouth through the fabric of her dress. 

“Nnnngh.” She arched into the pleasurable sensation and squeezed her knees to his hips, trying to draw him close to her. His tongue stroked, his teeth scraped, and his lips rhythmically closed around one tight bud while his fingers pinched and tugged the other. Hermione raised her hands and threaded them through his thick hair.

Lucius must have picked up his cane at some point, because suddenly she felt the firm rounded back of the cane head running lightly along her seam. She jumped and felt a cool puff of air against the now wet fabric covering her breast as he breathed a laugh. Her next breath came out as a strangled, “O-o-o-o-h.”

Up and down, up and down, the smooth warm back of the snakehead moved. Hermione gave a quiet, approving moan as the pliant head pushed and rubbed against the hood of her clitoris. It was obvious now that the object moving against her was the same density and hardness as a male phallus, and its effect was the same as well. Arousal turned to want, want changed to need, and a coil began to twist in her gut. Through the haze of lust, though, her mind still managed to whir, and a solitary thought emerged:  _ There are a lot of spells I still don’t know. _ “Lucius, pleeeaaase . . .”

Lucius pulled back to watch his other hand at work, and the young witch gave a snarl of disapproval at the sudden diminished attention being given to her breasts. He glanced up at her and watched her face as he rolled her nipple between his fingers and then gave it a flick. “As much as I enjoy sucking at your pretty nipples, I wish to watch your face.” His eyes dropped to where he moved the snakehead between her legs, and he groaned. “Your frock is soaked through.” The cane moved relentlessly against her, and Hermione used her leverage around Lucius’ hips to push herself harder into its touch.

“Oh, mmmmmmmmm, uuh.” Her hips bucked and she filled her restless hands with the fabric of his robes, willing him closer.  _ I want him between my legs.  _ The coil had wound itself into a solid mass of tension, and now the cane head was almost torturous in its teasing movements. The flesh between her legs ached for relief, and Lucius watched her torment with dark eyes. “Nnnngh!”

Rub, rub, rub. His hand continued its rhythm with the cane head. Twist, pinch, flick. His hand had begun alternating between her breasts at some point, and the random pattern was driving her mad.  _ I’m going to die of need.  _ All the desire in her body was racing back toward her gut, pressing down on the already tight-wound coil. A fluttering feeling began to spread within her. Now his ragged voice was in her ear. “When you come, Hermione, I want you to cry my name. Do you understand?”

The flesh between her legs pulsed in agony, and she nodded against his cheek. “No more teasing!” She felt her muscles tense in preparation for the impending orgasm.

“No more teasing.” Lucius lowered his head back down to her breast and latched on to her nipple, tugging gently with his lips. At the same time, he made several firm passes over her clitoris with the back of the snakehead. Suddenly, in a drawn-out series of blinding sensations, the tension of the coil was released explosively. Hermione cried out his name repeatedly as her body was inundated with wave after wave of intense pleasure, and true to his original promise, he swallowed her cries in a hungry kiss.

Time passed, and eventually awareness returned to the young witch. She was still sitting on the windowsill, pressed back against the glass, and Lucius was holding her in his arms. Her head flopped down on his shoulder. “Hmmmmm.” He kissed the top of her head, and Hermione rubbed her face into his neck. His hand rubbed up and down her arm in a soothing pattern, lulling her further into contentment. Eventually, though, a niggling thought worked its way through her blissful state: _ This is the second time Lucius has denied himself. _ She glanced up at him, bravely reaching one hand down to brush against his erection.

Lucius froze. Then, in a move uncharacteristic of the wizard she had come to know, he pushed against her hand, squeezing shut his eyes and exhaling sharply. Emboldened by his reaction, Hermione wrapped her fingers around his shaft as best she could through the fabric of his trousers. Lucius groaned and thrust into her grip once before he seemed to come to his senses. He stepped back from her with a wry smile on his handsome face. “You have a way of making me feel nineteen years old again, and I cannot decide if I like it.”

She sighed. “It hardly seems fair that you make me feel so good while you deny yourself what you obviously want.”

“What I want is to have you in my bed, warm and wanting beneath me. I will settle for nothing less.” Lucius closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

“Was that a spell?” She asked curiously.

“No, I am merely reciting a list of particularly disturbing images. It helps me to regain my composure.”

“What sort of images?”

He regarded her with amusement. “Things so horrid that the merest mention of them could quell anyone’s desire.” At her encouraging expression, he continued, “Minerva McGonagall and Cornelius Fudge skinny-dipping in the lake, for example.”

Hermione saw his logic. She held out her arms to him and when he returned to them, she said into his neck, “I like your experience, Lucius, but I also like when you lose control.” His nook was every bit as perfect as she’d remembered it, and she snuggled in yet closer. “How much time do we have left?”

“If Draco finishes on time, ten minutes.”

Her usual thought processes were returning now. “I have so many questions, but before I start would you mind . . .” She waved her hand over the front of her dress. Draco’s earlier pride in her rumpled state gave her context for the similar look on Lucius’ face.  _ He likes knowing he did that to me. _ Lucius finished his slow perusal and performed a wandless cleaning spell, followed by one to dry the fabric. “Thank you, Lucius.” 

They settled into the wingback chair in their usual fashion. Hermione began shooting questions at him rapid-fire, much to Lucius’ amusement. “Will you tell me what happened with Professor Vector?”

His expression quickly shifted to one of annoyance. “She is the most disagreeable woman I have ever met, and has been that way since our youth.” Lucius glanced down at her, explaining, “She was in Slytherin House, but several years older. Even then she was impossible.”

“Tell me more.”

He sighed. “Septima is one of the most skilled Arithmancers in the wizarding world, and was offered employment by several Malfoy companies when Abraxas was still alive. She turned them down though, because she hated the idea of a career in research. Also,” Lucius added, “There was the matter of her pride. Being a self-starting witch from a less-than-affluent family, she earned her tuition as a tutor. Abraxas hired her to help me for several summers, and it galled her no end that she was dependent on me for money.”

“Why would she be embarrassed about earning her way through school? That’s a very proud Muggle tradition!”

“I may have reminded her of her perceived servitude when she got uppity during the school year,” he murmured with an elegant shrug.

A bubble of laughter escaped Hermione before she could contain it. “Lucius!”

He raised an eyebrow, but his eyes were twinkling. “I was just a boy. Eventually I learned that the best revenge for her attitude was simply to ignore her. I’d been doing it successfully for over twenty years until you upset things.” 

“You’re saying that her refusal to help me stemmed from an old school grudge! So then, what was this punishment the two of you were arguing about?”

“She will be working for Malfoy Industries for the next few months, once again in my employ. There is an old axiom, ‘never cut off your nose to spite your face’. Septima Vector, for all her skill in predicting the future, can be very shortsighted. It seems she will be re-growing her nose over the summer.” His smug air was infectious, and Hermione grinned at him even as she shook her head.  _ Never cross Lucius Malfoy _ .

It would have been nice to just cuddle with Lucius, but their time was limited, so she continued with her questions even as she curled against his strong torso. “Please tell me about the new chaperone. Is she really that awful?” Hermione imagined her as a horribly ferocious, ancient dragon of a witch, but Lucius’ next words implied otherwise.

“My first impression of Mademoiselle Delacour was that her lack of personality was due to a lifelong reliance on her physical appearance. The coldness she exuded seemed to indicate a distinct lack of humanity. However, I have since come to recognize that she possesses two traits that speak to a certain depth of character: an extreme sense of practicality, and the unwillingness to deviate from her goal. She is unbending. In fact, Fleur Delacour is the very antithesis of Mr. Potter.”

  
Lucius’ description of her companion for the next few days was abysmal, but Hermione tried to remain as positive as possible. “So, she’s just unfriendly?”

“She is . . . very competent.” Lucius ran a hand over her hair, pushing it away from her face. He added, “And she will most certainly keep you from breaking any of your courtship rules.”

She looked up at him, scowling.  _ This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the week. _ “I hope you’re happy when we don’t get any time together.”

His hand, which had been caressing her back through the fabric of her dress, dipped down to her bottom and continued the motion. Suddenly he stopped, pulling her head up by a handful of hair so that she was looking up at him. “Is there something you wish to tell me, pet?”

_Oops. I may have forgotten to tell him about giving Draco my knickers . . ._ She decided to take a direct approach. “I’m not wearing any knickers because I gave them to Draco earlier. I was so flustered that I forgot to mention it before.”

His hand closed around the curve of her backside in a squeezing grip, and he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, and he stared at her blankly.  _ I’ve discombobulated Lucius. _ For some reason this pleased her immensely, and she quipped, “Shall I talk about Arithmancy now?”


	44. Tuesday - Later Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Tuesday - Later Afternoon

Lucius remained mute and immobile for several seconds while Hermione regarded him with barely suppressed amusement. She tilted her face upward and kissed his chin. “Hmmm, my aim seems to be off. It’s too bad  _ Miss Delacour _ probably won’t let me work on it with you.”

He snapped back to life, narrowing his eyes at her. “You gave Draco your knickers?”

Hermione nodded, biting back a smile.  _ Is he the tiniest bit jealous?  _ “I sent him a pair by Owl Sunday night, and then gave him the ones I was wearing today when I saw him earlier. Why, Lucius?” She kissed his chin again. “Do you want a pair as well?” She watched him war within himself.  _ He’s trying to decide if wanting a pair of my knickers puts him in the nineteen-years-old category. _ “To keep in your trouser pocket?” 

Still no answer.  _ I wonder how far I can push him _ . She decided to find out. “Perhaps not – they might be distracting, especially in business meetings. You’d accidentally pull them out at the worst times, too, when your fingers got caught in the ribbons.” Her hand stroked his chest and wandered to follow the buttons of his waistcoat down over his abdomen, circling a finger around each one. “Those tiny little scraps of lace and silk are far more trouble than they’re worth.”

Lucius caught her hand in one of his right as she’d lowered it to the last button, which was directly above the waistline of his trousers. He opened his mouth to speak, still considering his words carefully. Just then the office door opened, precluding any more mischief on the part of the young witch. She sighed, climbing off her wizard’s lap. Hermione held her hand out to him as she simultaneously ran the other over her backside. She looked at him innocently. “Well, come on, Lucius! Let’s go meet my new chaperone!”

Lucius stood and loomed over her, his brows furrowed over an expression of confused displeasure. “We will continue this later.” He held out his arm.

She nodded, keeping a straight face.  _ I’m going to make Lucius Malfoy beg for my knickers like a nineteen-year-old wizard. _ They walked into the outer office together formally, Hermione’s arm tucked under his and her hand resting on his forearm.

Professor Dumbledore had come out of his private rooms at the sound of the door, and he stood by his desk talking quietly to Draco. There was no one else with them, and Hermione immediately wondered why the new chaperone wasn’t with him. The two wizards looked up at their approach, and Draco gave her an almost-smile that sent her hurrying to his arms. 

The Headmaster nodded his head toward her in acknowledgement and spoke to Lucius. “You are nearly ready to depart, I expect. All that is left is for me to formally approve the new chaperone. I understand she has worked for you before?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Draco. From his embrace, Hermione saw Lucius eye him in a challenging way. She looked up at the younger wizard to see him smirking arrogantly, just as she felt him run a hand over her hip and trail his fingers over her bottom. Lucius’ expression morphed into amusement as he reached their side, and he slapped Draco’s back affectionately. Sensing the possibility for either a tug-o-war over her or something even less appropriate, she stepped away from both of them and sat in one of the chairs facing the Headmaster’s desk.

She glanced toward Professor Dumbledore, who had sat down as well. “How is the . . . errrr . . .  _ fiasco _ at this point?”

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled above his half-moon spectacles. “The fiasco is going splendidly. Thank you, Miss Granger.” He seemed disinclined to talk about the quarantine and screenings, and she didn’t press for more information.  _ I’ll bet Minerva will tell me more than I want to know anyway. I wonder if the staff needed to be screened . . . _ Professor Dumbledore picked up a stack of correspondence from his desk and shuffled it in the sort of way people did as a means of dismissing someone, and so Hermione turned back to her wizards.

“Where  _ is _ Mademoiselle Delacour?” she looked toward the half-opened door, half-expecting to see a figure waiting in the shadows.

Draco said, “She needed to send an Owl before we left, but should be here any moment. Has Lucius told you . . .?” He trailed off, nodding his head in a meaningful way.

“No,  _ Lucius _ hasn’t. I was attempting to do just that when a certain minx distracted me.” Lucius glowered at her, but her curiosity rendered her immune to the look.

She looked back and forth between her two wizards. “What? What was Lucius going to tell me?”  _ Maybe she IS a dragon.  _ She pictured Lucius, still furious about her disobedience and the ensuing disaster, buying a dragon and having it guard her in a cave somewhere on the Malfoy estate. Luckily her innate sense of logic prevailed and she shook off the image. 

“Miss Delacour has a . . .  _ divergent _ . . . lineage, and as such usually affects those around her.”

“I have no idea—“ she broke off as her earlier conversation with Lucius came to mind.  _ He said something about her looks and humanity. Merlin’s beard – she’s part Veela. They’ve hired a Siren to chaperone me. _ “I see.”

Draco must have seen the realization dawn across her face, because he nodded and said, “She’s one quarter Veela.”

“Fantastic. Well, trot her in. Let’s see my beautiful new keeper.” Hermione rolled her eyes.  _ It figures. I’m to spend the next three days under the watch of a gorgeous, cold-hearted bitch. If they so much as look at her twice, I’ll kill them both with my bare hands. _

They didn’t have long to wait. Less than a minute later, footfalls could be heard coming up the stairs, and then the door was pushed open the rest of the way by a witch in dark robes and a rather odd hat. At first glance, all one noticed was that she was clothed entirely too heavily for the current weather and that her face was obscured by a veil. A second, closer glance, afforded more easily as she advanced toward them, revealed that she was young and fair-skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes. When she came to stand in front of the group, Hermione finally saw what the veil and heavy robes tried to hide.

The blonde witch was exquisite.  _ Too _ exquisite. Her pale blonde hair hung like a silk ribbon, catching the light in a fascinating way. Her face was lovely – blue eyes, full lips, and perfect bones beneath flawless skin – and that skin seemed to generate a faint glow. Her robes, modest as they were, couldn’t hide the sensuous curves of her figure. Then, too, there was something about her that made Hermione want to claw out her eyes and scratch her exquisitely sculpted face.  _ I hate her. Gods, that’s pathetic – I don’t even know her! _ The curly-headed witch smiled as genuinely as she could manage. 

She glanced quickly at her wizards out of the corner of her eye and saw them both give a shallow bow, but their expressions were nothing more than polite. Meanwhile, Mademoiselle Delacour executed a graceful curtsy, nodding her head deferentially to Hermione. “Mademoiselle Granger, eet eez a great honor to serve you.” Her accent was so thick and heavy that Hermione found herself leaning forward to catch each word.

Hermione snapped her attention back to her new chaperone. Not wishing to be insincere, she simply said, “Hello.”  _ Merlin and Circe, she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Was this part of Lucius’ punishment? _

The elder Malfoy spoke. “Mademoiselle, if you will please approach the Headmaster’s desk.”

It seemed to take a moment for the French witch to comprehend the simple sentence, but at last she took the remaining steps to stand before the desk around which the rest of them were gathered. There followed a simple oath ceremony of sorts, which was simplified to sound more like a question and answer time between Professor Dumbledore and the breathtaking witch. Hermione watched with sharp eyes, waiting for one of her wizards to cast even a somewhat lingering gaze. However, neither seemed to have even noticed the newcomer’s charismatic beauty. 

The Headmaster was finishing up. “And do you swear to maintain the honor of this courtship by performing the duties of a chaperone?”

Again, there was a pause as Mademoiselle Delacour slowly interpreted the long sentence. “Zees I swear.”

“Very well. Your left hand, please.” The witch gave her hand to the Headmaster, and he performed an intricate spell over it. There was a snap and a shower of gold sparks, and it was done. She nodded to each member of the group and floated to the other side of the room.

Draco and Lucius began a hushed conversation that Hermione was loath to interrupt, and so she remained seated before the professor’s desk simply watching them. In such close company their similarities were uncanny. Besides the obvious physical resemblance they bore each other, their mannerisms and facial expressions were uncannily alike. They certainly shared the haughtily raised brow and arrogant smirk that played constantly across their features, yes – but there was also their elegant stance and movement. The young witch mentally catalogued each hand gesture and subtle shift in posture, wondering what they were talking about. At one point, Draco nodded in the direction of the new chaperone casually, and Hermione was once again struck by the fact that he seemed unaffected by the French witch’s allure.

Hermione addressed Professor Dumbledore, who had sat at his desk and was once again perusing paperwork. “Sir, may I ask you a question?” At his kind expression, she continued, “I’ve done more than my share of research on magical creatures, and know that Veelas hold significant powers of attraction over human males. Why is it that none of you seem to have been influenced by her presence?”

He smiled kindly. “It is fascinating, is it not, that there are so many types and strengths of magic. For instance, there is the magic that flows through us, as opposed to that which is inherent to magical creatures. Then there are diverse and mysterious ancient magics. One could argue that they all come from the same source, but their differences in use and power suggest otherwise. They flow in harmony, yet there seems to be a hierarchy among them. Have you considered that perhaps Mademoiselle Delacour’s powers are not the most significant magic in the room?” 

Her mind quickly grasped on to what the Headmaster was saying in his roundabout way, and she asked, “Do you mean that the Malfoy covenant prevents Lucius and Draco from being influenced by Mademoiselle Delacour?”

“The covenant of the Malfoy family has found its Bespoken one and laid claim to her. Your wizards have bound themselves to you, and in doing so have forsaken any other woman. Yes, the covenant lends strength and foresight, but it is their own honor and love for you which grants them immunity.”

Hermione felt a physical pressure in her chest as an overwhelming happiness filled every inch of her body.  _ They love me, and that beautiful woman doesn’t affect them.  _ Tucking away this information and her own emotions for further, private analysis, she asked, “But what about you, sir? Shouldn’t you be affected by her?”

“Alas,” he shrugged apologetically “I am far more affected by your wizards than even a full-blooded Veela.”

Hermione smiled in understanding and changed the subject tactfully. She turned the conversation back to the courtship, specifically to her first chaperone. __ “Did you do a ceremony like that with Harry? I thought Ginny told him the night of the Slytherin party.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled enigmatically. “I asked Mr. Potter when the war-stake was cast, and made him take the oath then. He may have forgotten. It happens, sometimes.”

_ He Obliviated Harry! _ Before Hermione could even splutter her indignation, though, the Headmaster added, “It was his own request. He didn’t want you to find out during the war.”

“He trusted the Malfoys enough to agree to chaperone my engagement to them?”

“Oh – no, my dear. He trusted  _ me _ .” The old wizard twinkled at her in the way that reminded her of a favorite elderly uncle, and she shook her head even as she smirked at him.

“You . . .” words failed her.

“I found a way to win the war and then some. Let us leave it at that, shall we?” He looked over her shoulder with a thoughtful expression, and Hermione craned her neck in that direction. Fleur Delacour was standing alone far across the room, gazing out the window with a forlorn look on her lovely face. “This master plan of mine goes on, Miss Granger. I do hope you will trust me as your ‘brother’ did.” With that, he excused himself from their company and returned to his private rooms.

Hermione’s brain whirred as she tried to puzzle out what the Headmaster had been saying in his riddling way. In the meantime, she stood and walked to the windowed alcove where the French witch leaned gracefully against the wall.  _ It’s impossible to hate someone just because of her physical appearance. I think she must be affecting me. _ The irony that she, the only woman in the room, might be the only one swayed by the Veela influence was not lost on her.  _ I will win the Ice Queen over, either through Gryffindor spirit or Slytherin cunning.  _ Drawing near Mademoiselle Delacour, she offered, “I hope that you will call me Hermione.”

The blonde witch replied, “Eef zhat is what you weesh, but we are not friends. I am your guardian, non?”

_ She’s very blunt. _ “Errrrr, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be on friendly terms. May I call you Fleur?”

“Bien sur, ‘Ermione.” She gave a crisp nod and looked out curiously to the main office, where Lucius and Draco were still talking. “When do we leave zis place?”

_ And she doesn’t breathe fire, or seem inclined to bite me.  _ “Soon. You know, if I had my wand I could cast an Interpretor charm and we could understand each other much more easily. I don’t suppose you know that one?” Fleur shook her head, and Hermione continued, “Well you should – it would be quite useful in your line of work. Curse breaking, right?”

“Oui. When my Engleesh eet is better, I weesh to work for Banque de la Gringotts.”

“Oh, I see – you freelance so that you can work on your English while you work; is that right?

Fleur nodded. “I do not speak L’anglais so well, but I ‘ave ze determination to learn.”

“We can speak English all day and night for the rest of the week, if you like.”  _ We might even get along halfway, if I can fight back the urge to scratch her.  _ “Even so, the first thing I’m going to do when I get my wand is make it so that we can communicate with a few less ‘ze’s’.”

“Hermione,” Draco was calling in his soft, low voice, “Miss Delacour – we’re ready to Apparate.” He held out his hand toward the curly-haired witch, and she realized that without her wand she would be relegated to a Side-Along.  _ Ugh. _ As she began walking toward him, however, her sleeve was caught by Fleur.

“Mais non, ‘Ermione. You are wiz me.” The grip of her delicate-looking hand was surprisingly strong, and her tone was as well. 

Hermione protested, “Surely it doesn’t matter who I Side-Along with!” She looked to her wizards for support, but found them both looking at her with resignation. Irritation filled her. “You’re just going to let her manhandle me?” She tried to jerk away from the blonde witch without being completely rude, but Fleur held fast.

“I weel Stun you if I must.” The blonde witch tapped her wand meaningfully against her shoulder.

Fleur’s cool expression was somewhat daunting, but Hermione refused to be completely cowed. “I’m not some animal you can just . . . !“ The look of amusement on Lucius’ face nearly sent her into a tizzy. Suddenly all the things he’d said earlier began to make sense.  _ Mother of Merlin, this is my tower. This woman is going to boss me around for the next three days, and he’s going to let her do it!  _ “And you! You can just wipe that look off your face. Fine.”

The chaperone looked toward Lucius. “Monsieur? After you.”

Hermione braced herself for the familiar, dizzying feeling of non-corporeal travel. Fleur wrapped an arm tightly around her, and then Apparated expertly. The rush of space and time churned the young witch’s stomach long before they reached their destination, and as soon as they alighted on a patch of grass she dropped to her knees, breathing deeply. Eventually her stomach brain settled into their proper places, and she stood to take stock of Malfoy Manor.

  
  
  



	45. Tuesday - Evening

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

_ Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten _

Tuesday - Evening

When her head stopped spinning, Hermione found herself standing in the grass on the side of a wide cobbled drive. It was bordered by huge, ancient yew topiary hedges trained and cut into fantastic shapes, some of which seemed to be moving. The drive stretched away as far as she could see. Behind the hedges, glimpses of vast lawns peeked through. Hermione spun around, mouth gaping in awe. Before her, set at the end of the drive and behind a large fountain, was an enormous, square, tall house of graceful proportions. Lucius and Draco stood in front of it not far away, their presence lending a welcoming air.

She had never seen the outside of the manor when she’d been brought here during the war, and the outward beauty of it jarred with her memories of its dark Hall and even darker dungeon. Hermione shook off the images that came to mind.  _ Even then I wasn’t in real danger -- Lucius was protecting me.  _ She squared her shoulders and set her chin resolutely.  _ I’ll face my demons head-on, but right now, at this moment, I want to make a few brand new memories of this place. _ The curly-headed witch looked around her again. The spot to which they’d Apparated reminded her of the fairy-tales her mother had loved reading to her years ago, and she could almost picture a pumpkin coach pulling up at the head of the drive in front of the long sweep of wide stone steps.  _ Except that it would be pulled by Thestrals instead of horses. And the princess would be a Veela. _ That last thought irritated her, and she corrected her inner dialogue.  _ And the princess would be me. _

The random thought of her childhood and the favorite story helped to quell her former memories. Hermione broke out of her reverie and turned to her new chaperone, who was watching her with a face completely devoid of expression. “Is this real? This is Malfoy Manor?” Her attention was once again caught by the yews lining the drive.  _ Did that one just move? _ She wandered across the drive to a particularly artful topiary fox three times her height, Fleur staying at her side. As the two witches disappeared beyond the gracefully waving green tail, Hermione turned back to her wizards and called out, “Come on, I want to see everything before it grows dark!”

Lucius and Draco caught up with them somewhere between the fox and a giraffe, which bent its long neck as they passed. Hermione was filled with childlike wonder. “They move! They actually move! How  _ wonderful _ !” She reached out toward the giraffe’s muzzle, which brushed against her hand before rising to its original height far above. Fleur seemed unimpressed as she walked quietly beside the others, and Hermione guessed that she had seen these sights on a previous trip to the estate.

A flash of white in the corner of her vision caused her to jump, and she whirled straight into Lucius’ chest. He caught her in his arms, setting her straight as Draco pointed out the thing that had startled her. “It’s all right, sweetheart – it’s only Albus.” A large albino peacock strutted past them, its beautiful plumes sweeping over the lush grass. It paused and looked at her for a moment before continuing on its way.

“Albus? You can’t be serious.” 

Lucius chuckled. “He was hatched the year I graduated from Hogwarts. It seemed a fitting name at the time.” Hermione laughed, delighted at such further proof of the more playful side of him.

“Does he have any friends?” Her question was answered when a group of peahens came into view, hiding shyly beneath the large green body of a crouching dragon. She bent at the waist, stretching out her free hand toward them. “Hello, pretty girls. Are they friendly?” The question was directed to Lucius, who had clasped his large, warm hand around hers.

“Incredibly so, if you have something to share with them. We keep a bin of corn near the formal gardens – we’ll walk in that direction and they’ll follow us.” He made kissing noises in the direction of the large, graceful birds and they followed as he led the group around the manor house.

When they finally reached the back of it, they came to a large terrace overlooking a river. The terrace was dominated by a large, formal garden the length of the house. It spread out from the center in a mirror-image pattern of curving walkways made from beds of vibrant flowers edged in thick green foliage. Lucius had parted with the rest of them, leading the peacocks to a small gazebo on the far end where he tossed some grain to them. Fleur had wandered to the edge of the terrace, looking down the gently sloping hill to the swiftly flowing water. Draco was at her side, his arm pulling her close. The young witch snuggled against him silently, taking in the colors and lines along with the sound of the rushing river, and said, “This is lovely. I’ve been on tours of places like this, when I was younger. It’s hard to believe . . .”

Draco ducked down to press a quick kiss to her mouth. “The estate is covered in gardens. There’s even an old-fashioned labyrinth on the east lawn. It makes sense, of course – Herbology has been a family hobby for centuries, and Lucius takes it to the extreme.”

The mention of Lucius and his love of plants jolted Hermione’s memory.  _ My blue roses! _ “I don’t suppose there’s a rose garden as well?”

“Yes, of course. We passed its outer walls on the way here. Lucius sealed the outer entrance when I was a boy to keep my mischief to a minimum, so it can only be accessed from his study. I’m sure it will be one of the first places he drags you once we go inside.” He flashed a brilliant smile and tugged on her hand. “Would you like to see more?”

Fleur was returning to them now, a mildly approving look on her beautiful face. “I ‘ad not seen zis garden before today. Eet eez tres beau. But I much prefer le labrynthe – il est magnifique! You must show eet to her.” It was the most conversational thing she had said to this point, and even her bossy tone couldn’t subdue the optimism Hermione felt in the moment.  _ Maybe she won’t be so bad.  _

Draco called to Lucius, and the four of them set off again across the terrace to the side of the house Hermione had not yet seen.  _ This place would be ridiculously large for two dozen people, let alone two. It must have been so lonely for Lucius when Draco was at school! _ Still holding Draco’s hand, she wrapped her other arm around the elder Malfoy’s waist. He pulled her against his side, and they walked in a contented cluster for a long time. Eventually they rounded the far corner of the house and took a path lined by walnut trees trained into a high arch. When they reached the end of the leafy tunnel a few minutes later, the labyrinth rose up to tower before them. Hermione was once again rendered speechless, lost in thoughts of Muggle fairy tales. 

The sound of splashing water hinted at a fountain within the high walls of the maze, and the young witch sprang forward curiously. She felt a hand take hold of her arm, holding her back. “Wait for us, pet.” Lucius paused at the entrance to the maze and laid his palm on the high yew hedge on one side. He explained, “You must always identify yourself. This place was not designed merely for pleasure, and the labyrinth is full of pitfalls and traps for those who do not seek peace with us.” In answer to her silent question, he added, “It was created as a last resort of safety for the Malfoy family.”

He motioned for her to follow his example, and after she had also brushed her hand against the foliage they entered side by side. Draco followed, escorting Fleur. “Did you ever use it during the last war?”

“Had my plan to hide you that night gone awry, we would have taken you there.” He said no more, and Hermione was grateful. It wasn’t a memory on which she liked to dwell, and now especially, she was trying to push it from her mind. 

They wandered through the high-walled maze until the sun began to dip in the spring sky. She and Lucius walked a ways ahead of the other two, and each time they turned a corner, they stole a kiss. It was their first romantic stroll, and Hermione looked forward to doing it many more times in the next few days.  _ And after that there won’t be any more rules . . . _ The thought sent a shiver racing along her back. He mistook her bout of trembling for a chill and draped his outer robes around her shoulders, wrapping them around her and running his hands up and down her arms several times. “Perhaps it’s time to go inside. I have wondered . . . does that thought trouble you?”

It was the first time Hermione had heard such an unsure tone from Lucius, and the idea that he might understand her mixed feelings about being back at this place – no matter how beautiful it was proving to be – was remarkably stabilizing. She nodded up at his handsome face. “What happened in the hall – it was terrifying, but I wasn’t hurt. Not really. You saved me, Lucius, and then you waited in this big empty house until you thought I was ready to know how you felt about me. Besides, I won’t be going in there by myself -- you and Draco will be with me. Even later on I won’t be alone, because I’ll have Fleur.” He kissed her tenderly, and the young witch felt that overwhelmingly full sensation in her chest once again.  _ My heart isn’t big enough for all I feel for him. _ She could hear the other two approaching from behind and said, “I’m ready. Let’s go replace the bad memories with good ones.”

Draco must have heard just the last bit, because he caught her up in a squeezing hug. “I like the sound of that. Now let’s ditch this old wizard and get started on making those good memories.” He planted a wicked kiss on her lips that made her blush violently, and their new chaperone raised a disapproving eyebrow. Draco stood to his full height, only slightly chastened, and began to drag her back toward the house. He got only a few feet before Hermione dug in her heels and laughingly shrugged off his strong but gentle grasp.

“No, no! I think I’ll ditch the both of you in favor of Fleur for now.” She briefly considered the idea of trying to link her arm with that of the French woman, but decided not to push her luck. Fleur was regarding her with an expressionless face. Hermione asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

The blonde witch regarded her coolly. “Bien sur, ‘Ermione. Why would I not be?”

“Well, errrrr, you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much.”

“I am not ‘ere for zee . . . how do you say . . . enjouissance.”

“Right – you’re here to chaperone the courtship. Still, you could have fun while you’re doing that. There’s no rule that says you can’t.”  _ Harry certainly did. _

Fleur looked at her with a flash of resentment, or at least that’s what it seemed like to Hermione. “You know nozzing of what you speak. You are young and in love, and you sink everyzhing is tres facile.” Resentment seemed to be an accurate interpretation, because it actually oozed from her tone as well.

_ How dare she! All right, now we’ll see what color Veela blood runs.  _ “You know nothing about me, and I suggest you stop making gross assumptions at once. You can also stop threatening to stun me, because you’ll have to do a lot worse to scare me.” The blood was pounding in her ears and her voice was shaking with anger. Hermione lengthened her stride, moving ahead of the chaperone, but her sleeve was caught in the other’s firm grip.

“Togezzer. You do not have to like me, but you must stay wiz me.” The previous emotion was gone from Fleur’s face and tone, and the Ice Queen had resurfaced.

“Actually, I think I’ll walk with my wizards.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

They reached the house as the sun dropped behind it, entering through a set of French windows somewhere along the east side. The room was obviously designed to be used in the morning, when the sun would lend its heat and light. The outer wall was a series of floor-to-ceiling windows, and inviting couches were strewn around the space beside low tables, exotic plants, and even potted trees. It was the kind of place in which Hermione could imagine reading for long hours.

Lucius’ attention was drawn by the flora. He went from pot to pot, gently touching a leaf or pressing his palm to a trunk, and his eyes traveled each plant with an intensity that reminded Hermione of the way he looked at her. She watched him, enthralled at this new facet of his person even as Draco continued to move through the room. At the far end by the inner door, the younger wizard paused. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake – not now, Lucius! They’ll understand if you don’t kiss them all goodnight just this once.”

Lucius made a sort of growling noise and caught up with them. When Draco smirked at him, he replied, “I have gone without meals waiting for you to be done with a potion. You have no grounds to criticize my interests.” He looked over his shoulder and added, “Mademoiselle Delacour, are you planning to join us?” Fleur, who had dropped behind the trio after her exchange with Hermione, remained silent as she followed them out of the room. 

The inner layout of Malfoy Manor was arbitrary at best, and while the grand building was breathtaking, it was a veritable rabbit warren of hallways and staircases. Hermione was quite sure that, without her current guides, she could wander the house for days without finding her way. They passed through a gallery of family portraits, the subjects of which watched them pass and whispered noisily until the doors of the enormous hall were closed behind them. Only then did Lucius offer, “They have been waiting for your arrival for some time.”

There was a room of low leather couches and chairs and multiple fireplaces, with the kind of dim lighting that offered a maximum of privacy. It looked like a gentleman’s lounge, and Hermione said as much to Draco. With an expression of curiosity, he looked around the space, admitting he hadn’t often visited. “This was Abraxas’ salon, and Lucius can’t stand it.”

Several hallways later, they cut through a room that made Hermione stop dead in her tracks. It was a library spanning two stories. Bookshelves lined the paneled walls and formed short rows like the spokes of a wheel. In its center, a staircase spiraled to the upper level. She felt lightheaded and grabbed hold of the nearest wizard for support.

Lucius looked down at her, his face set in an indulgent look. “What is it, pet?”

“L-l-library . . .”

He tutted. “No, my prize. This is merely the Lady’s reading room. I assure you, the Malfoy Library will make you swoon.” 

Her eyes traveled greedily around the large space, drinking in the sight of so much reading material. His words eventually filtered through her book lust, though, and she turned with a whimper. “Merely . . . reading room . . . you mean there’s . . .  _ mother of Merlin _ . . .” Her gibberish trailed off into more inarticulate sounds. Lucius dragged her onward, ignoring her protests as they left the wondrous room far behind.

Drawing rooms, studies, servant’s stations, cupboards bigger than her room at Hogwarts – Hermione gave up trying to remember it all as she realized this was only the ground level of the Manor. And everywhere there were high ceilings, dark woodwork, and art and artifacts dating back millennia. It occurred to her that Lucius and Draco were doing an excellent job of slowly but surely exposing her to the house without causing her any trauma. 

Eventually, though, they ended up in the Great Hall – the place where Bellatrix and her henchman had dragged her after Apparating onto the grounds. Flashes of that night burst across her consciousness, and Hermione clenched her fists and teeth against them. The two blond wizards seemed to be anticipating such a reaction, because Draco wrapped her in his arms and sat on a low bench by the gigantic hearth, while Lucius knelt in front of them. 

One of them rubbed across her back, but she was locked far away in her mind, assailed by the memories of her abduction by Bellatrix Lestrange and the rough, masked Death Eater. A wave of nausea passed over her.

“She caught me in the middle of the night.” She felt a tug at her hair and flinched until she realized it was a pleasant, familiar feeling.

“Yes.” The silky voice overlaying the images in her mind was familiar, but her focus was on her memories.

“She hit me across the face and I was stunned. My wand was taken.” There was a hand stroking through her hair gently.

“Yes.” Hermione felt her body respond to the beautiful voice despite the images in her mind.

“She took me here. Into this very room.” It was Draco’s hand. He was running his fingers through her curls in a comforting motion. She leaned into his touch.

“I was here, my lovely one.”  _ Lucius _ .

“She- she wanted to carve that word into my arm.” There were four hands on her, two on her back, one in her hair, and yet another holding both of her hands.

Lucius’ smooth, deep voice cut through the flashback of the madwoman’s screeches and her cursed dagger. “She did, but I would not allow it.”

The young witch was drawn back partway to the present. She looked at Lucius, whose eyes were dark with emotion, and whose jaw clenched furiously. “You took me to the dungeon.” The feelings of freezing cold and gnawing hunger came back to her, and she shuddered in Draco’s arms.

Lucius would have none of it. “I picked you up in my arms. I placed a warming charm on you, and took you to the safest place I could on such short notice. You were safe from harm there, Hermione.”

His words pulled her further out of her trance-like state. “You saved me.”

He nodded. “I saved you because you are my Bespoken one. Because I  _ love _ you. This is your house now, Lady. Do not let it rule you.”

She soaked up the comfort of her two wizards for some time after that. At last she looked up and saw Fleur, who had leaned against the giant leg of the hearth and was watching the fire blaze. The chaperone’s face was set in an expression of hopelessness and pain, and the thought of another’s suffering galvanized Hermione’s courage. Pressing a brief kiss to first Draco’s, and then Lucius’, faces, she stood. “I would like to talk with Fleur alone, if I may. Would you please find something to do for a few minutes?” Lucius looked at her with appraising eyes and finally nodded. She added, “And would you cast an Interpretor, please? I would have a while ago, but . . .  _ you know _ .”

He looked as though an obvious answer had just occurred to him and said, “Use my wand for tonight, and in the meantime, I will contact St. Mungo’s about your own.”

“Oh.” She was speechless for a moment, struck by the generous gesture. “Will it obey me?” 

He withdrew the object in question from its sheath within his cane and held it out to her. “You may test it, but I think it will recognize the covenant within you.”

The young witch gave it a tentative flick, and then cautiously cast a Lumos away from the others around her. The wand felt odd, yes, but it followed her command without protest. Gaining boldness, Hermione Transfigured a piece of firewood into a bucket and then back its original form. She smiled at Lucius. “Thank you! I haven’t felt right since I lost mine. But what will you do without it?”

He bent down and kissed her nose, then produced a wandless, wordless Lumos in the palm of his hand. “You see? I have no need for my wand at present. Keep it safe for me, and I will collect it shortly.”

Hermione dragged him down for a sweet, lingering kiss which would have morphed into something more, had not Fleur cleared her throat meaningfully. The curly-haired witch pulled away reluctantly and whispered, “Thank you, my love.”

Lucius appeared deeply pleased at her term of endearment. He straightened and turned to Draco. “Come, Draco. We have much to do.”


	46. Tuesday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week's update is dedicated to Wanderingloner. Thank you for that very kind kind note! I appreciate your readership.
> 
> Crafty_fatkid, Syl, and AuraleeBlack14 - I'm so glad you're enjoying my big silly baby. And thank you for leaving so many nice words about BW. It was ridiculously fun to write and remains even more fun to share with others.
> 
> For those with inquiring minds, last weekend was a Girls' Weekend involving CK (CoquetteKitten, my intrepid fanfic Alpha/Beta/Gamma/Theta/etc), Baby G (my girl-spawn), and Baby G's bestie. Lots of fantastic home-cooked British food (including sticky toffee pudding!), drinks on the pier, and lots of fanfic planning. For those of you following my newest story, I think you'll agree it was time well spent . . . as soon I have some new chapters to upload.
> 
> This weekend has been a rollercoaster of emotion for me, Baby G, and G-monster (Baby G's cousin and my god-daughter). It began with a very successful dressage show for G-monster on her newest dressage horse (le tres énorme Bijou), and ended with her lifelong friend and first dressage pony having to be euthanized after colicking early this morning. We miss you already, Peaches.

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

_ Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten _

Tuesday Night

Hermione was already moving toward the blonde witch before Lucius and Draco had exited the room. When Fleur seemed not to notice her approach, she reached out tentatively and touched her arm with one finger. “Errrrr, Fleur?”

The muscle beneath her fingers tensed as Fleur regained awareness. “What eez it you require?” In an obvious move away from the curly-haired witch that was still garbed in the semblance of civility, she raised her hands to lift the heavy veil and remove the odd hat from her head. Hermione was faced head-on with the staggering beauty of Fleur Delacour.

She fought the desire to pull that shining blonde hair, holding out her hand instead. “I’m going to cast an Interpretor. Your hand, please.” 

The Frenchwoman complied stiffly, and Hermione deftly cast the complicated charm that would allow them to hear each other in their native tongues. When she was done, and their hands had briefly been illuminated with a green glow, she said, “There. How’s that?”

Fleur looked mildly impressed, if only for a moment. “It’s fine, I suppose.”

_ Thank Circe for small mercies. _ _ No more zees. _ Hermione absently went to tuck Lucius’ wand in her robes pocket and remembered she hadn’t worn them. She returned her focus to the matter at hand, setting it on the table nearby. “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. It was uncalled for.” Fleur blinked, but otherwise showed no emotion. Hermione continued, “You seem . . . sad.”  _ And very unfriendly most of the time. _

The beautiful witch narrowed her eyes, but her tone was nothing less than civil. “You don’t know anything.”

“Fleur, two weeks ago I accepted a war-stake without knowing there was such a thing. Believe me, you’re right – there’s a lot I don’t know.”

“You didn’t know?” This seemed to pique her interest, and her body turned ever so slightly towards Hermione.

“Professor Dumbledore tricked me into accepting it. He is – as much as it pains me to say this – a very wise, powerful wizard, and he knows things that are . . . unknowable. He said I would thank him for it eventually, and he was right – I did today, before you arrived at his office.”

Fleur was listening intently now, and Hermione made a calculated gamble. “He knows something about  _ you _ , Fleur. He told me that.”

This sparked a brief flame of emotion in the Frenchwoman. “What did he say about me?” 

“He mentioned a master plan, and then he asked me to trust him.”

“That could be about anybody. Ppphhhh.” She made a dismissive sound.

“”I don’t think so. I’m almost certain . . .” She sighed. “He can be a bit of a drama queen.”  _ Perhaps that’s what Lucius was thinking when he named the peacock after him. _

“Why do you keep yourself at such a distance? Wouldn’t it be nicer if things were less . . . chilly?”

“I know that you are affected by the Veela blood in me. You don’t have to fight it and pretend to like me. It’s something to which I’m accustomed.” Any hint of humanity in her expression seemed to refreeze, and Fleur was back to her former icy self.

“You’re right – I am. Affected by that part of you, that is. But I’m not the sort of person to take the easy way out of difficult situations, and I don’t pretend. I’d like to get to know you.” Fleur had returned to staring at the fire, and Hermione tried again. “Why did you take this job?” 

“I was grateful for the opportunity. It will open doors that would otherwise remain shut to me because of my . . . lineage.” 

Hermione felt certain the Frenchwoman was being truthful while at the same time holding something back. “But you’ve already worked for the Malfoys – surely their patronage has already done that?”

A faint flush bloomed across the chaperone’s face but disappeared quickly, and in a lightning bolt of comprehension, the younger witch understood.  _ She’s attracted to one of them. I’d guess Lucius. _ The thought would have made her angry except that she’d seen Fleur interact with him, and her manner had been professional and within the strictest bounds of propriety. Still, a feeling of possessiveness crawled along her spine. “Oh. I see.”

Fleur had interpreted the minimal answer correctly, for she replied, “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what – not like you have a crush on Lucius and want to be near him?” It occurred to Hermione that she should trust her desire to befriend this witch; after all, the covenant had remained passive since Fleur’s arrival. At this idea, she felt a concurring sentiment stir in the edges of her awareness.  _ Good to know. _

Fleur was plainly embarrassed. She shook her head vehemently and began, “I have never even—“ but was cut off by Hermione almost immediately.

“I’m not suggesting you’d act on your feelings – you know he’s found his Bespoken one, and you’re obviously taking this job seriously. But you took it because . . .?” She looked at Fleur questioningly.

Fleur covered her face with her hands for a second as though to regain her composure. “Because it’s very difficult to say ‘no’ to Lucius Malfoy.”

“Even when saying ‘yes’ means you’ll have to see him with me? Don’t you want what I have?” Hermione was completely confused even though she understood exactly what the witch was saying.

“He’s handsome and charming, yes. I enjoy working for him because of this, but it’s only a – how did you say it – crush. And you’re right – I do want  _ what _ you have, but not  _ who _ you have. He just happens to have a certain . . .” The chaperone looked at her apologetically. 

Hermione couldn’t help it.  _ She’s right – Lucius is irresistible.  _ She smirked, quipping, “Je ne sais quoi?”

Fleur tried to hold back her answering smile but eventually it broke through. “Something like that.”

  
“You must be a connaisseuse of dangerous wizards, too. Well,” she concluded, “I have a wand now, and I won’t hesitate to use it if you so much as  _ look  _ at him inappropriately. Understand?”

“I do, but that would never happen anyway.” She looked at the curly-haired witch intently. “Do you really think Professor Dumbledore was talking about me?”

“Absolutely, and I  _ will _ trust him. It’s the only thing he asked me to do. Why do you ask?”

Fleur looked into the fire with a new look – one that was full of hope and hinted at happiness. “Maybe – just maybe . . .” she nodded firmly, but left the thought unfinished. “It’s enough to hope.” After a few minutes of silence between the two witches, the blonde asked, “Hermione?”

The younger witch raised her eyebrows expectantly. “What is it?”

“What I said before, about not having to like me . . .”

Hermione finished, “but that I have to stay with you?”

Fleur nodded and explained hesitantly, “You don’t. Have to like me, that is. But I hope that you will. I like you already.”

“Everything within me  _ wants _ to like you, Fleur – really. But I’m constantly fighting the urge to disfigure your perfect face.” Hermione grimaced in acknowledgement of this failure on her part.

Without warning Fleur laughed, and (of course) it was the most beautiful laugh Hermione had ever heard. She was instantly irritated. “Not helping! Can’t you do anything in a less than lovely way?”

“If you’re generous enough to joke about the fact that I have a – did I use the right word? A crush? – on your wizard, then I can certainly allow you to fantasize about clawing me to shreds.”

“Is this how all your friendships are?”

The smile turned affectionate. “My sister suffers the same fate as I, and we are immune to each other.”

_ I think she just admitted that she has no friends other than her sister. _ Tactfully, Hermione directed the conversation that way. “Tell me about her.”

For the first time, Fleur’s eyes lit up. “Gabrielle is lovely! She’s fifteen, and is just home from Beauxbatons for the summer. I promised to take her to England soon, but haven’t decided where.” 

_ Her only friend is fifteen years old.  _ Hermione was finding that if she looked away from Fleur while they spoke, the urge to hurt her diminished greatly, and so she was currently looking around the enormous great hall. “Why not have her come to the wedding this weekend? I know I loved fancy gatherings at that age.”

“She hasn’t been invited.”

Now Hermione was studying the high ceiling, which was as ornate as the rest of the room. “I’m inviting her right now. I’ll tell Lucius when he gets back.” Her eyes glanced toward the door.  _ I miss them already. _

“She would love that.” Fleur’s gaze had traveled back to the fire, and she was quiet again.

It was silent in the great hall for a long time, and then there was the crack of Apparation. Hermione jumped. A few feet away stood the house elf who had been summoned to Hogwarts earlier. The little creature curtsied. “Trinket serves the Lady with great happiness!” 

She seemed to be waiting for some response, and so Hermione replied, “Errr, thank you, Trinket.”

The little house elf beamed and clasped her hands together ecstatically. “Would the Lady and Miss Delacour like to prepare for dinner? The Young Master has ordered it for eight o’clock, unless the Lady wishes otherwise.”

Hermione glanced at Fleur, who now stood at her side. “Errrr, yes. We would like to prepare for dinner. Would you please show us to our room?” 

“Oh, yes! Trinket has prepared the Lady’s room! Please follow Trinket!” The little elf began skipping away. 

Hermione picked up Lucius’ wand and gestured toward the Frenchwoman. “Well, come on! We have to stay together, remember? Otherwise I’m to be fitted with a collar and bell!”

Fleur did as she was bid, looking the tiniest bit interested. “What did you say?” They passed out of the great hall and turned into a huge passageway that must have been a main corridor.

“You heard me – Lucius said if I left a room without you, he was going to fit me for a collar and bell so he’d be able to find me.”

The blonde witch’s lips twitched slightly, but she said nothing. They followed Trinket up a high, winding staircase and along an open gallery. It looked down onto a vast room lined with arches and columns, a molded ceiling hung with at least a dozen enormous chandeliers, and a parquet floor laid out in the design of two mirror-image peacock tails. Hermione slowed her pace, wanting to catalogue every intricate detail. “What is that beautiful room?”

Trinket was hurrying them along with frantic hand motions. “The  _ ballroom _ , of course. Come! Come!”

Hermione took one last, lingering look at the room below and would have been left behind had it not been for a strong, petite hand and its iron grip on her wrist. She looked at Fleur, who had taken hold of her and pulled her along even now.  _ I think she might be nice under that chilly demeanor, but it’s going to take a lot of work to thaw her out. I’ll just have to keep reminding myself that it’ll be worth it _ .

They seemed to be moving to the top and back of the Manor. Several different hallways and staircases later, the little house elf stopped in front of a pair of ornate double doors. She curtsied again and hopped up and down manically. “The Lady’s rooms!” Trinket opened the door with a wave of her hands and urged the witches to enter. Hermione took one look at the room and stopped short, causing Fleur to run into her from behind.

She was instantly transported to every one of her childhood fairy tales.  _ This is where the princess sleeps. _ It was Rapunzel’s tower, Sleeping Beauty’s bower, and Cinderella’s bridal suite woven together lovingly. Hermione crossed the room in a daze, her shoes sinking into a thick Persian carpet. The high arched French windows opened onto a balcony that looked down over the back of the house. She pushed one open and walked out to the stone balustrade. Directly below her several stories down, she saw the formal gardens on the river terrace and realized they, like the floor of the ballroom, followed a fanciful design of mirror image peacock tails. Even further below, the river stretched out in a lazy serpentine, edging fields and forests that were now steeped in the still-bright sun of a late spring evening.

“Hermione, please come back inside. It appears we must keep to the schedule.” The chaperone’s no-nonsense voice interrupted her exploration. The curly-headed witch sighed and went inside. Fleur was already following Trinket to the other end of the room.

She had only a glimpse of the space as she hurried to a door along one side.  _ It reminds me of the color of the dress I wore to . . . _ Harry’s words from the walk to the Slytherin party two weeks ago came back to her. She paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at the huge canopied bed.  _ “It’ll be the Yule Ball all over again. Draco just stood by the punchbowl and drooled.” _ _ Merlin, he . . .  _ Draco had found the color of her formal robes from the Yule Ball and had the room – and most specifically the bed linens – decorated in subtle variations of it. Hermione was certain that this room had been ready and waiting  _ for her _ for a very long time.  _ Oh, Draco. _

There was no time to do anything but gain a quick impression of the large, airy bedroom, though, as Fleur pulled her through the door at the behest of Trinket. They passed through a dressing room lined with doors and littered with dozens of boxes wrapped in suspiciously familiar green paper with silver bows. Then they had passed into yet another room, and there they stopped. Hermione blinked, trying to process everything. Meanwhile, Trinket was gesticulating toward the enormous marble tub, which was slightly reminiscent of the Prefect’s bath at school.  _ It’s more like a small pool _ . “The water is ready. The Lady must summon Trinket when she is done with her bath!” She levitated two robes from a long cupboard and let them fall to the edge of the tub.

With a snap, the house elf was gone, and the two witches exchanged a glance. Fleur pointed at the tub. “In, now.”

_ She has really got to stop bossing me around. Although it makes sense that she does, if her only friend is a little sister. _ Hermione complied, throwing off her clothes and sliding into the scented bubbles with a sigh of pleasure. She looked up at Fleur, remembering at the last moment not to focus on her. “Well, get in! You’re obviously expected to bathe as well – she left two robes.” At the Frenchwoman’s raised eyebrow, she added, “What, you think you’re the only one here who can tell people what to do?”

The look on Fleur’s face was priceless. “Very well, but close your eyes.”

“Oh, for Circe’s sake – like I want to see how perfect the rest of you is, anyway. Of course I’ll close my eyes. Really! Didn’t you ever bathe with your housemates at school, or with Gabrielle?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Fleur, this tub is so huge we can both stretch our legs out and not touch each other’s toes.” Hermione felt the water disturbed into ripples as the Frenchwoman complied. “You’re a bit uptight, you know.”

“No, I’m not. Aaaah, this is lovely.” 

It really was. Beneath the bubbles, the water was hot and thick with redolent oil. The two witches soaked in silence for a long while, until Hermione ventured, “What’s it like, knowing that you affect nearly everyone around you?”

Fleur snorted delicately. “Women dislike me right away. I have come to expect their petty rudeness and desire to scratch my face. I know that my personality doesn’t help, either. I’m not very . . . tactful.” She glanced at Hermione with a relaxed smile. “You’ve done better than anyone else I’ve met in years. Thank you for your kindness.”

The words filled the younger witch with a certain amount of guilt.  _ I don’t feel very kind when I’m looking at you _ . “And men?”

The question was met with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “If I were a different sort of person, it might be enjoyable. However, I’m not interested in playing the games some women seem to like so much. I want to be admired for who I am, not  _ what _ . I ignore men whenever possible.”

The fragrant steam lulled them back into companionable silence until the curly-haired witch finally lifted one hand out of the water and sighed. “I’m all raisin-fingered now – time to get out. Here.” She pushed one robe along the side of the long tub towards Fleur and then stood, wrapping herself in the other. “I wonder if Trinket—“ Hermione had no sooner uttered Trinket’s name in passing than the little elf popped loudly into the room. “Oh! I was only saying—“

“Yes, yes! Hurry! Mustn’t be late for dinner! The Master will soon return, and Young Master is already waiting in his study!”

The two witches were hurried into the dressing room, and Trinket directed them proudly to one of the doors along the wall. “Lady and Miss Delacour, your belongings have been unpacked. Trinket is sorry for the mess,” here she waved toward the stacks of boxes strewn across the floor and couches of the room, “but the Masters have forbidden her from touching anything that was wrapped.” She wrung her hands in distress for a moment, but then she caught sight of Hermione’s smile and her small face brightened. “This does not displease the Lady?”

__ “Not at all. I’ll open them tomorrow.” She added a self-conscious explanation to Fleur. “Lucius and Draco seem to have developed an extreme need to give me presents.”

“Aren’t you an orphan?” The Frenchwoman tossed over her shoulder as she headed to the indicated closet door.

“Well, yes, but—“

Fleur cut her off impatiently from where she had stepped into the storage space. Her voice sounded muffled. “Then it’s their responsibility. It’s a pureblood tradition – they must provide your trousseau.”

“And here I thought it was a romantic gesture,” Hermione replied wryly. She rolled Lucius’ wand between her fingers. Each time she held it in her hand, it felt less odd and more like something she had a right to use.

Fleur had taken the storm-colored silk gown – the first one that Draco had given her – from the closet and held it aloft with an approving look. “Well, if the rest of it is anything like this one, it is  _ very _ romantic. You’ll wear this one tonight.”

She was back to her bossy former self, but Hermione took it in stride.  _ We’re getting along, and that’s more important. _ She bossed back good-naturedly, “Worry about yourself, Fleur! I can be ready in ten minutes – what about you?”

Shortly after, they left the beautiful suite behind and set off for Lucius’ study. Trinket curtailed all gawking this time, and they arrived in a previously unseen part of the house by a straightforward route. If she had to guess, Hermione would say they were in the southwest part of the Manor. The little house elf slowed as they approached an open door and gestured for them to enter it.

“Thank you for your help, Trinket.” 

The creature smiled widely at the simple words and bobbed her head enthusiastically. “Trinket serves the Lady happily!” Then she was gone in a crack of Apparition.

Hermione peered into the room. It was a man’s space, replete with dark paneling, leather furniture, bookshelves, and a large hearth with a roaring fire in the grate. Draco seemed to appear out of thin air, until Hermione realized he had entered the room from outside through heavily curtained French windows.  _ He was in the rose garden. _ She immediately crossed the room and pointed to the hidden doors. “May I . . .?”

Draco shook his head, a serious look on his handsome face. “Absolutely not. Lucius would have my head if I let you out there without him.” At her questioning expression, he explained, “If it were anyone but you, I’d say it was because he doesn’t trust anyone alone with his prize plants. In your case, however, it’s because he wants to be the one to show it to you.”

Hermione let her eyes wander Draco’s form while he was talking, and she noticed for the first time that he was every bit as dressed for dinner as she. As usual, his dark robes hung and clung to his beautiful body in flattering lines. Eventually, her eyes made their way back to his face. He was regarding her with unconcealed desire as he held his arms out to her. She went to him without hesitation and they kissed as if they’d spent the entire day apart. They broke apart almost immediately at the sound of Fleur clearing her throat, but Draco didn’t relinquish his hold. His hands slipped against the dark grey silk, reminding Hermione of the night she’d first worn it. Draco seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because his hands wandered over the luxurious fabric. Fleur made the irritating noise again.

He gave their chaperone an apologetic look that somehow managed to convey slight displeasure, and then a shallow bow. “Good evening, Mademoiselle Delacour.”

“Good evening, Mister Malfoy.” The confused look on Draco’s face made Hermione realize that the Interpretor charm would have to be widened to include her wizards. It allowed Fleur to revert to her native tongue when speaking to Hermione, thus adding difficulties to larger conversations. She explained this to him, and performed the charm over all three of their linked hands. Fleur wandered a short distance away to browse the bookshelves after giving Draco a warning look, and he drew Hermione across the room to the furthest couch possible. No sooner had they sat then they were immediately encased within a bubble of intimacy. Her wizard’s hands once again traveled her silk-covered back and sides, although this time he managed to do so in a way that didn’t draw their chaperone’s attention. He leaned down to kiss her, but thought better of it at the last moment when Fleur moved into their line of sight. Draco groaned quietly. “You smell divine. Let me guess – you just took a bath.”

“Yep – me in a tub of bubbles and scented oil,” she said mischievously.

He groaned again, and the hand that was hidden between his body and the back of the couch slid upward to the curve of her breast. “You look so lovely in this gown, Hermione.” 

_ I want to crawl into his lap and wrap myself around him, and Fleur won’t even let us kiss! Harry’s definitely my favorite chaperone so far.  _ Hermione tried to think of something else besides her hormones. “Speaking of dresses, Draco, my room— it’s . . . did you choose the color?” She looked up at him with a knowing smile.

He was blushing slightly, but his smile was confident. “It required a Pensieve and a very accommodating decorator. Did you like it?” The question was asked in a quiet voice above her ear. 

“I barely got to see it, but I think the fact that you went to all that work might be even more romantic than the Transfigurations text you gave me Monday. It’s beautiful.” She leaned toward him to trace the buttons of his shirt where they showed above his waistcoat. “Tonight you can think of me sleeping in that bed wearing your Quidditch jersey.” His hidden hand hadn’t moved from the side of her breast, and she felt his fingers flex around the yielding flesh. Her hormones were becoming increasingly harder to ignore. 

Draco seemed to feel the same way, because his eyes were traveling over her hungrily.  _ He’s looking at me as though I were something to be eaten.  _ That thought caused her stomach to growl loudly, and the mood was lost. Draco chuckled as she glanced around the room, looking for a timepiece of some sort. The tall grandfather clock in the corner of the study showed ten minutes to eight. “I’m starving. Where do you suppose Lucius is?”

“He Floo’d the Director of St, Mungo’s and went to meet him there. He should be here soon.” 

Not long after, there was the sound of footfalls in the hallway, and the elder Malfoy wizard came into view. He looked triumphant and was twirling a familiar wand in his hand. “I don’t suppose one of you has misplaced a vinewood wand with a dragon heartstring core?”

Hermione flew across the room, flinging her arms around him briefly before practically snatching the slim length of wood from his hands. “Oh, my wand! My beautiful, perfect wand! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She handed him back his own and, mindful of Fleur, pulled him down for an enthusiastic series of chaste kisses. At the end she added, “And thank you again for lending me your own.”

Lucius drew her against him in a tight embrace and kissed the top of her head. He leaned his mouth to her ear. “Did it continue to respond for you?”

She laid her head against his broad chest, inhaling his inherent scent. “It did. At first it felt strange even just to touch it, but the longer I held it, the more comfortable it became. I liked using it – it’s almost like the masculine version of my own.”

“I am glad to hear it.” His hand stroked over the back of her neck, and she shivered appreciatively.

Hermione glanced up at Lucius. “It was like having a part of you with me. I found myself touching it even when I didn’t need it.”

A subtle look of amusement crossed his face. “That is most gratifying, pet. In the future, you may touch my wand whenever you like.”

  
  
  



	47. Wednesday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

_ Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten _

Wednesday Morning

Hermione woke to a complete absence of sound from the witch sleeping deeply beside her, and was confused until she thought back to the very end of the previous evening.  _ Who’d have thought the Ice Queen would be a snorer? Thank Circe for Silencio.  _ She smirked sleepily into her pillow and snuggled deeply under the warm, weightless covers. Trinket had closed the side curtains at some point, and what little light permeated them gave little hint about the time, but somehow Hermione was sure it was quite early.  _ Ten Galleons says Fleur will wake up the moment I try to leave this bed.  _ That particular thought would normally have rankled her independent nature, but the huge bed was decadently comfortable, and she was happy to remain. She decided to remain where she was for a while, closing her eyes and remembering the events of the night before . . .

_ No sooner had Lucius murmured his wicked double entendre than she had burst into peals of laughter. The sound seemed to round up Draco and Fleur because they both approached at the same time, and the four of them left the study together. Walking through the Manor proved to be much more enjoyable with her wizards, who indulged her curiosity along the way. They’d eventually arrived at the dining room, and Hermione had stopped short in awe. The table was so long that the far end was barely visible, and down its middle ran what had to be the world’s longest floral centerpiece. Gigantic chandeliers lit the high-ceilinged room. The end nearest Hermione had been set with gleaming silver, china, crystal, and she was confused by the lack of table settings around it until she realized the two ends had been set and also the two opposing places in the exact middle of the table. She had turned to Lucius in dismay. “Well, so much for dinner conversation.” _

_ He appeared to be having the same thoughts, because he turned to Draco with one uplifted eyebrow. The younger wizard had replied cryptically, “I agree,” and then called for Trinket, requesting for dinner to be served ‘as usual.’ Then he turned to Hermione and Fleur. “Ladies, will you accompany us back the way we came?” _

_ They’d returned to Lucius’ study to find that covered dishes had been set on a low table, with large floor pillows laid out around it on the floor. The young witch was delighted. She watched Draco revert into the relaxed manners he’d used at the picnic, and was shocked when Lucius followed suit. Hermione feasted her eyes on their hands as they ate. Meanwhile, Lucius fed her bites from his plate and Draco unobtrusively rested his free hand on her thigh. The seating arrangement was as perfect and yet as frustrating as possible, with Hermione between her wizards and Fleur directly across. She felt their desire mix with her own, but was unable to do much of anything under the watchful eyes of the chaperone. Every chance the two men got, though, they tormented her with fleeting touches and heated glances. _

_ Conversation was minimal at first as the food took precedence, but eventually flowed. At some point Hermione asked, “Why do you eat in here?” She looked from wizard to wizard. _

_ Draco laughed. “You saw the size of that table with your own eyes! And if there’s one thing you should know about Trinket, it’s that she insists on symmetry – hence the impossible seating arrangement.” _

_ Lucius had a faraway look in his eye as he said, “She set the table that way when Draco was first old enough to sit in a chair, and there was no arguing with her. Since then, we have avoided that battle entirely by eating in the study.” He pulled Hermione against his side, settling an arm around her shoulder. She laid her head against his chest contentedly.  _

_ Fleur watched their interaction closely. “You let a mere house elf dictate where you sit at your own table?” she asked with a trace of incredulity in her voice. _

_ Hermione was surprised at Lucius’ biting tone when he answered. “She has run this Manor for decades and serves in the most faithful and competent of ways. As housekeeper Trinket has the right to decide what is best for this house and its inhabitants.”  _

_ She was touched by his protective statement, but still found herself responding, “But surely the demand for absolute symmetry doesn’t fall under the heading of what’s best for anything!”  _

_ Draco laughed again. He had taken hold of Hermione’s legs and curled them over his lap, waving his hands to Fleur before he set them innocently on the curly-haired witch’s knee. “Don’t get Lucius started on what makes sense when it comes to Trink – she helped raise him, and he can’t see any of her little flaws.” _

_ “Idiosyncrasies! They’re merely idiosyncrasies, you brat,” Lucius sounded as though he was smiling in spite of his choice of words. “And you’re right. I am happy to bend to her whims most of the time, knowing that if I truly wanted something she would do it regardless of her own wishes.” _

_ Hermione realized what he was really saying, and gave voice to it. “You don’t like to hurt her feelings.” Lucius answered with a kiss to the top of her head. _

_ The conversation moved on to places the wizards had traveled on business for the Malfoy Empire, and they pointed to some of them on the large magical map that covered one wall of the study. Trinket came to clear the table, and Hermione watched closely as she interacted with the elder Malfoy. It was clear that his high regard for the little house elf was mutual.  _

_ When the dishes were gone and the table put back in its normal place, Trinket opened the heavy curtains at the far end of the room and opened the French windows. A cool breeze wafted through the room, and with it the scent of roses. She bobbed a curtsy to the group and Apparated with a crack, and that’s all it took for Hermione to scramble to her feet. ‘Show me your garden, Lucius!” She tried dragging him to his feet in almost childlike excitement and growled when he only chuckled at her. _

_ Eventually he stopped his teasing, and they made their way across the room. Draco had sunk gracefully into a chair by the hearth, and Fleur trailed behind them at a surprisingly acceptable distance. “Is she going to be this strict the whole time?” Hermione whispered as they walked through the doors. _

_ His answer went unheard when she saw what lay before her. It was far bigger than she’d imagined it. Roses spilled over trellises and climbed arches everywhere she looked. Hermione dragged Lucius down the steps and along a winding path lined with more kinds of stemmed roses than she’d ever dreamed possible. They were obviously magical varieties; some changed color as she watched, others were fantastic shapes and sizes, and one prominently placed group of golden blooms even seemed to glow in the fading light. “It’s . . .” _

_ He pulled back against her arm, slowing their pace, and leaned to murmur, “It’s not going anywhere. Never rush your first time doing anything, pet. Look,” he pointed to a pale pink flower that seemed to follow their movement, “The Shepherdess likes you.” Lucius reached out towards the plant, and it leaned towards him in a bowing motion. _

_ She looked up at him in wonder. “Do they all have names?” Behind him she could see Fleur, who seemed to be as enchanted with the rose garden as she was. The chaperone had paused in front of the bed of glowing blooms. _

_ “Of course, although the names I give them here differ slightly than the ones they have in the rest of the world.” He pulled her along slowly, and Fleur fell behind them a few more steps. _

_ “You mean, you give them nicknames?” _

_ “Of a sort. This is my Temptress.” He was gently drawing a flower toward her by its stem. It was deep red with petals like flames and a heavenly fragrance. “If you were to see it in another garden, it would no doubt be called rosa elecebra.” _

_ She translated the Latin as closely as she could. “Rose seductress?”  _

_ “Very good, pet.” He was pulling her around a corner, and Hermione once again stopped short. Before her, in a riotous glory of stems and petals, was a large alcove filled entirely with silvery blue roses. She recognized the frothy, full flowers Lucius had brought to her right away – they were stemmed and growing abundantly along the path.  _

_ “I know these! These are the ones you gave to me at school!” She bent to inhale their sweet scent, “What do you call them?” _

_ Lucius pulled a small pair of cutters from a pocket of his robe and snipped one perfect specimen on a long stem. He handed it to her, murmuring “Praestruxit.”  _

_ Hermione had to tilt back her head to see him as he loomed over her, and comprehension dawned. “Bespoke? You mean—” _

_ He pocketed the cutters and drew her closer until she was wrapped in his arms and he was pressing his lips to hers. The young witch sighed through her nose and felt Lucius smile against her mouth. He lifted his head enough to say, “In this garden, they are called Hermione.”  _

_ Hermione tried to pull his head back down to hers, but he was already standing to his full height. “Let us stop while it’s still our choice.” He led her back the way they’d come and they found Fleur standing where they’d left her, deeply entranced by the glowing golden flowers.  _

_ The Frenchwoman looked up at them and seemed to come to her senses. “If you think I’m going to let you walk out here alone, you’re mistaken.” _

_ Hermione looked at her oddly. “Errrrr . . . of course not.” She glanced at Lucius, who narrowed his eyes at her as if in warning. Instinct cautioned her to say nothing, and she obeyed it. “Are you ready to go in?” _

_ It was Fleur’s turn to give an odd look. “Don’t you want to see the garden?” She looked slightly dazed. _

_ Lucius gestured toward the study doors. “The air is cooling and the flowers are closing for the night. It would be better to explore it tomorrow.” When Hermione attempted to get closer to the glowing roses, Lucius firmly pulled her away. _

_ At the top of the steps, she paused. “Lucius, those flowers . . . what do you call them?” _

_ He whispered the answer into her hair. “Rosa Expugnator. My guardians. You would be wise to avoid them.” _

_ “OH.” To herself, she whispered “captor.” _

_ Inside, Draco seemed to have fallen asleep in his armchair by the warm fire. Hermione took a step toward him, but paused by Fleur. “I’m going to kiss him, and I don’t want to hear you clearing your throat. If we didn’t break the rules when Harry chaperoned us, we certainly won’t on your watch.” She took another step and added, “Try to relax, Fleur.” _

_ The curly-haired witch crossed the room and gently leaned over the sleeping Draco, brushing his hair from his forehead in a tender motion. “Wake up, silly snake.” She kissed his temple. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucius pouring himself a drink of what could only be firewhiskey. He came and sat in the chair across from them. Hermione balanced herself on one of Draco’s knees, kissing his mouth in an attempt to rouse him. _

_ Draco stirred with a smile. “Hmmmmm.” He pulled her head down to his shoulder and closed his eyes again. His hands followed the curve of her spine, slipping along the silk of her dress. He mumbled drowsily, “I love this dress, witch.”  _

_ She nuzzled against his neck, inhaling deeply. “You’re still exhausted, Draco.” Hermione kissed his jaw and then his lips again, reminding herself at the last moment that Fleur was watching.  _

_ He roused himself with effort, blinking adorably. “Sorry, I guess I need to go to bed soon.” _

_ “Go now, and you’ll see me in your dreams.” She stood and he followed, yawning behind one hand. “Good night, my love.” _

_ Draco kissed her sleepily, nodded toward Fleur, and grunted at Lucius. The elder Malfoy chuckled. “Don’t forget our obligation in the morning.” _

_ The younger wizard grimaced and made an unintelligible sound as he left the study. When the door had closed behind him, Hermione went to perch on the arm of Lucius’ chair. The heavy silk of her gown fell across his legs in a waterfall of fabric, and he pulled at it until she slipped down with a quiet yelp into his lap. Fleur rose from her chair and came to stand near the hearth, even closer to them that she had been before. _

_ Lucius turned to the chaperone with a resigned expression. Hermione was learning to read his subtle expressions, and knew that he was trying to be courteous in spite of his irritation. “Mademoiselle Delacour, I trust that your accommodations are acceptable?” _

_ Fleur glanced at Hermione and a trace of a smile crossed over her face. “They are more than that. Not only are they much grander than they were the last time, but the company is much better, thank you.” _

_ He spoke to them both, now. “I wish for you to join me here as early as possible in the morning. We have much to discuss.” _

_ “What about Draco?” Hermione asked curiously. Surely whatever they needed to talk about included him. _

_ Lucius smirked. “He has an obligation in the morning, but he’ll join us when he’s done.” _

_ Suddenly Hermione scrambled to sit up. Their topic of conversation had jarred a memory. The slippery fabric and Lucius’ hands worked against her though, and she ended up with her bum wedged between the strong thighs of her wizard. ‘This is familiar’, she thought with a fleeting smirk. Lucius seemed to be thinking the same thing, but after a glance to their chaperone (who had now taken the chair facing them) he simply helped the curly-haired witch to sit up. “Is something the matter, my prize?” He ran one finger down the length of her bare arm, sending shivers racing over her body. _

_ Even his distracting touch couldn’t allay the panic welling up within her. “Oh, Lucius – I completely forgot to send an Owl to Molly and Minerva earlier, and now it’s probably too late! Ginny’s going to hex me into next week!” He stroked her arm again, raising one heavy eyebrow in a questioning manner. Hermione explained, “Ginny and Harry asked me to invite Molly to breakfast here in the morning, providing it was all right with you. They wanted to spend their first day . . . Errrrr . . . you know . . .” Here she nodded meaningfully. _

_ “Use your words, pet.” _

_ She huffed. “You know very well what I mean, Lucius – they want to christen every room in Grimmauld Place with lots of sex. That certainly won’t happen with Molly there, though she certainly wouldn’t try to stop them. She would have come even more willingly had I invited Minerva and Astoria Greengrass, seeing as they’re three sex-obsessed peas in the same randy pod.” _

_ He looked as though he was trying not to smile. “I was under the impression you would do anything to escape the clutches of those two women.” _

_ “I AM, but I gave Gin my word.” She looked at him miserably. “Now I’ve broken it.”  _

_ Lucius pulled her against his chest and ran his fingers up and down her back in soothing patterns. “I don’t think you have cause for such worry.” At her questioning glance, he added, “Draco explained the situation to me a few hours ago, and I anticipated that you might be distracted.” _

_ A seed of hope sprouted inside the young witch. She wriggled out of his embrace, looking directly into his handsome face. “Do you mean . . .?” Had Lucius actually saved her from the otherwise impending wrath of Ginny Weasley? _

_ His eyes were twinkling, but otherwise his expression was impassive. “I may have already invited those three for breakfast in the morning.” Hermione made a noise of pure joy and proceeded to cover Lucius’ face in enthusiastic kisses. He laughed and pulled her head so that their lips were less than an inch apart. “On another note, I think the idea of christening a house holds merit; don’t you, pet?” _

_ She made a strangled sound and he lowered his lips to hers, but they were interrupted within seconds by the sound of their chaperone clearing her irritatingly lovely throat. _

Fleur stirred beside her, and Hermione quickly released her from the Silencio. The young witch slid from the silken sheets, pulling back the curtains along her side of the bed. The room was bathed in the pale light of very early morning. She padded across the carpet to the balcony, quietly opening one door and sneaking out. Hermione left the door open, rationalizing that Fleur could clearly see her from where she lay in bed, and looked out over the still-sleepy world below.

A thin mist hung over the river and far bank, but directly underneath the balcony the formal garden was clearly visible. Hermione leaned over the edge, memorizing the beautiful design of the beds and walkways below. From behind her Fleur called in her usual bossy tone, “Hermione, I’m not ready to get up. Now, come back in here or I’ll tell Lucius.”

That comment rubbed Hermione exactly the wrong way, and her eyes narrowed in fury.  _ No one tells me what to do!  _ She quickly amended that thought. _ Except Lucius. And sometimes Draco. But only because I let them. _ Her mind began whirring, and by the time she had made it to the French windows, a small, wicked smile was spreading slowly across her face.  _ So she wants me to stay close, does she? _ She made her way to the bed and climbed back up onto it, snuggling down beside her chaperone. “Good morning, Fleur!” She began in a chipper voice. “I usually get up before the sun – what about you? Hmmmmm?” Hermione pulled the covers from Fleur, who had begun protesting loudly. “Oh, no you don’t – you work for  _ me _ ! That means that as long as I’m following the rules of the courtship, you have to follow mine.” Hermione continued pestering Fleur as she practically dragged her from the bed. “Get up  _ now _ . I want to take a shower and get ready.”

Fleur was definitely not a morning person, and this gave Hermione no small amount of satisfaction. The curly-haired witch proceeded to sing in the shower at the top of her lungs, all the while keeping her wand at the ready should Fleur decide to exact some form of revenge. After that, she dragged the chaperone into the dressing room, where she chatted away about a recent article trying to link the very dissimilar studies of Arithmancy and Divination. Fleur had sunk to the floor, leaning back against the wall in a defeated position as Hermione gave herself a final glance in one of the many floor-length mirrors. Her hair hung in long spirals, her face glowed under a soft layer of makeup, and her sundress flattered her slender figure. She finished up triumphantly, “And so, you see, the author’s entire premise was flawed by a very simple error in translation. Disappointing, really. Don’t you think?” She blinked innocently at her companion.

Fleur moaned dramatically. “For Merlin’s sake, shut up! It’s five o’clock in the morning. The  _ birds _ are still asleep. If I must be awake, let me have some peace!”

Hermione smiled at her grimly. “There will be no peace for you, Mademoiselle Delacour, as long as you continue to be such an ogre of a chaperone. I will not be bossed around, and I will  _ not _ be kept from my wizards.”

“It is  _ my duty _ to—“

“Bollocks. Astoria Greengrass is soon to be wife to the House of Nott, and her chaperone just goes into the next room and leaves the door open. That’s what Professor Dumbledore did for us as well, when we visited in his office! You enjoy being in charge far too much, and I’m calling you out, Fleur.” Fleur stuck her nose up in the air and managed to make the look alluring. “And don’t you dare pout. Now, you have half an hour to make yourself presentable. After that we’re going down to Lucius study, and you’re going to sit in the corner and  _ mind your own beeswax _ .”

Fleur flounced off to take a shower, and Hermione wandered back out onto the balcony. There was activity in the garden below now. Several people on brooms were flying very low back and forth over the garden under the direction of a screeching, redheaded woman who couldn’t be anyone other than Molly Weasley. When one of the flyers paused in mid-air, she caught a flash of more red hair under his hat, and realized that she had dragged at least one of the boys with her to help. 

_ Well, this might be awkward. _ She pondered the situation: she was engaged to the Malfoys and now living here with her chaperone, and here were some of the Weasleys, who had also cast a war-stake for her. For her the worst part was knowing that these men, whom she thought of as brothers, did  _ not _ think of her as a sister.  _ I hope it’s the twins – at least they’ll find a way to joke about it. _ She decided not to worry about it, and to avoid them so that she didn’t inadvertently break any rules. 

As she came to this conclusion, another person came into sight. She would have known it was Draco even if he’d been wearing a hat, although his platinum hair was a dead give away. Even so, she recognized his smooth, confident stride and the set of his shoulders immediately. The two flyers landed on the ground near him, and the three shook hands and stood talking.  _ That must have been what Lucius meant about Draco’s morning obligation. He’s meeting with the Weasleys. Must be about the wedding. _

At that moment, Fleur appeared. Her hair hung in waterlogged strands, she wore no makeup, and her outfit was similar to the one she’d worn yesterday. Still, she was radiantly beautiful. Hermione tried not to growl as she looked away from the Frenchwoman’s face. “Could you do something to look a little less  _ perfect _ ?”

__

The chaperone gave her a chilly look, but the air between the two witches was decidedly warmer than it had been the day before. “You’d better pray there’s coffee waiting for me downstairs.”

Hermione stuck out her tongue, and Fleur actually smirked. “Yes, yes. You’re terrifying. Now be a good chaperone and take me to see my wizard. Chop, chop!” 


	48. Wednesday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

_ Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten _

Wednesday Morning

When they finally arrived at his study, Lucius was scowling over some parchment at his desk and a familiar-looking eagle owl perched on a roost nearby. He stood at their entrance. “Good morning, my prize. Mademoiselle Delacour.” His long strides crossed the room quickly, and then he was executing a shallow bow over Hermione’s left hand and directing a deferential nod of his head toward Fleur. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.

“Good morning, Lucius.”

He led her back towards his desk, gesturing for Fleur to follow them, and pulled her down to sit in his lap. Hermione curled up into her nook and breathed in the intoxicating scent of him. The chaperone sank into a chair facing the desk, ignored for the moment. In her abrupt manner she asked, “What is it that drags us from our slumber, Mister Malfoy?”

It occurred to Hermione that Lucius’ French must be quite good, because he hadn’t been stymied by the Interpretor charm at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly at home speaking English and listening to Fleur’s native tongue. Nevertheless, the curly-haired offered to perform the spell once again. Lucius thanked her but declined. He turned the conversation back to Fleur’s question, stroking Hermione’s face and neck as he did so. “The next two days will be filled with activity, and I think it wise to make a schedule of sorts.” He added in a dark tone, “Otherwise, Molly will do so for us.”

Hermione nodded into the collar of his shirt. “That’s for certain. Have you begun it already?”

“Indeed I have, pet.” He drew her attention to the large piece of parchment lying across his desk, pointing at various parts. “You see, we will all be quite busy. I must portkey to Paris this afternoon, and then to Rome for most of tomorrow. This means that the bulk of the work in the next two days falls on Draco’s shoulders. In the meantime, you will undoubtedly be dragged into some part of Molly’s plans. Therefore, this morning will be doubly booked.”

“How do you mean?”

“You have guests coming for a late breakfast, and I would like for you to be marked with the Malfoy rune as soon as possible.”

“Surely we can wait until you get back tonight for that?”

Lucius actually growled. “There are Weasley men on the premises. Molly insists that she needs her eldest boys’ help today to prepare for the reception. She has promised me that they will spend their time helping with deliveries and running errands for her, but I am unhappy with the situation. I will not have your choice contested again.” He cast a calculating glance at Fleur and said, “Would you ladies please join me in the rose garden? It seems a shame to miss the blossoms unfurling in the morning light.”

The chaperone stood almost eagerly. “That’s an excellent idea.” She walked ahead of them to the French windows and stepped out into the garden.

Hermione hadn’t missed Lucius’ expression. “What are you doing?” She asked quietly.

He shook his head with a smirk and raised a finger to his lips. “Come,” he mouthed. As they joined Fleur outside, he said, “Mademoiselle, you must pay close attention to the golden flowers you admired so much last night. They are particularly stunning when they first open.” His face was unreadable as he led Hermione to the side and down one path.

The young witch looked over her shoulder to see the chaperone once again standing before the glowing blooms with a dazed expression on her face. “How long will they affect her like that?”

As they rounded the first corner, Lucius answered, “As long as no one distracts her from them, she will remain in that spot. Quickly now, before the Bespoken wakes up.” He pulled her along until they came to alcove of blue roses. Sure enough, the pale morning light was coaxing the buds open, and Hermione watched in awe as all the plants seemed to yawn and stretch as one living thing. Slowly, slowly the blooms lifted their dew-laden heads and spread their petals, until the entire alcove was abloom.

“The plants here, Lucius – they seem more than just alive.” She looked up at him questioningly.

“The Malfoy land sits over multiple convergences of ley lines. The magic here is strong, and has taken on a life of its own. Perhaps because of our long obsession with it, the flora has been affected most of all.” He paused to pull her against him, leaning down to murmur against her earlobe, “I did not lead you out here to discuss the roses.”

She shivered in pleasure. “But what about when your plant varieties are grown elsewhere? Do they retain—“

Lucius silenced her with a kiss. “No talking.” Hermione lost her train of thought completely as he moved his mouth against hers. She forgot where they were when he gently sucked her bottom lip between his and then did the same to the top one. She forgot about their chaperone, held captive by the golden roses, when his tongue teased the seam of her lips. And then, when he pushed it into her mouth to tease her own tongue, and gave a low groan of approval, she forgot how to stand upright.

They kissed each other hungrily, holding each other as close as possible until they broke apart briefly to breathe. Hermione whispered, “Let’s just stay here like this until breakfast, Lucius. You can put the rune on my skin when you get home tonight.”

He was moving his mouth over her neck now, leaving the skin wet and sensitized to the cool morning air. “Unacceptable. We will mark you this morning.”

Hermione unbound his hair and ran her fingernails over his scalp. He bent her backward over one arm and kissed along her collarbones, holding her firmly against his torso with the other. She felt the increasingly familiar urge to tease her wizard. “Tell me why this rune is so important, anyway. It seems a bit overkill.”

Lucius stood to his full height, loosening his grip on her. A storm was brewing in his grey-blue eyes, and electricity crackled in his every move. He loomed directly above her and leaned in so that she was forced to tip her head back to hold his gaze. “Lesson number one: a Bespoke Witch bears the mark of her husbands on her body  _ not _ as proof of ownership, but as evidence of commitment.”

“I can’t imagine what happened with Ron is a common occurrence. Why does it need to be so permanent? Couldn’t I just wear a ring?” Hermione honestly had no idea why she was even arguing with him, except that they both enjoyed this little game.

“It is  _ tradition _ , and one that pureblood families uphold proudly.”

“Can you tell me why?”

He lifted a hand to her face, tracing one long finger from her temple down over her cheek as he answered. “A house Wife holds reverent status among the old families of the wizarding world. She is anticipated, protected, and loved by her husbands, who seal a rune into her skin as proof that she has promised to give herself to them unreservedly.” 

The finger continued a trail along her jaw, around the shell of her ear, and down her neck to the base of her throat. Hermione shivered as Lucius leaned in further to ghost a kiss across her lips. His fingers were tracing the placket of her sundress now, and he brushed his mouth against hers with only slightly more pressure. He pulled back slightly. “Wherever she goes, she bears this mark. It speaks of her love for her husbands and theirs for her.”

Hermione stretched to meet his mouth again and reached up to weave her fingers through the silk of his hair. This time she didn’t allow him to tease her; she initiated a sensuous rhythm of lips and tongues until he took control and wrapped one arm around her to bring her against his body once more.

Lucius pulled back again. He held her against his torso, letting her feel his body’s reaction to her. “The meaning of the rune a house Wife bears is a secret shared only between her and her husbands, and it is visible only to those who are looking for it. You will accept our rune, my prize.”

“Mmmmmm.” She strained to pull his mouth back to hers. “Of course I will, but it’s just so much fun to wind you up.”

He smirked against her lips, murmuring, “You’ve wound something up.” 

She pushed her hand between their bodies and hesitantly brushed it against the hard length of his penis as he groaned into her mouth. Her hand traced its bulky shape with an almost bold curiosity, encouraged by his reaction. When she paused, Lucius wrapped his hand around hers and pressed it back to his fabric-covered erection. “You will be my undoing.” He exhaled shakily.

“I’ll probably undo something at some point,” she joked, biting her lip to control the nervous smile on her mouth. She continued to grip his shaft, watching a succession of subtle expressions wash over his face. He pushed slightly into her hand, and Hermione felt a rush of power.  _ I’m in control of Lucius Malfoy. For the moment. _ The young witch moved her hand slightly up and down, causing her wizard to push harder. An idea came to her. “Mark me  _ tonight _ , Lucius. You’ll have all the time in the world.”

His large hands were grasping her backside, and he was bending to kiss her again. “Nnnngh.”

_ That’s the sound I usually make _ . She trailed her tongue along his lower lip. “You can find the most perfect bit of skin and put your mark there, and I can touch you as much as I want, Lucius. We won’t be rushed.” Hermione brushed off the thought of Fleur and what she might have to say about any of this.  _ Maybe we could just have the ceremony here in the garden, and the Captor roses could keep her busy. _

He groaned into her mouth and pushed into her grip again. “Mmmmmmm.”

“Wouldn’t that be better, my love? To take our time and please each other?”

He pulled back slightly and shook his head, obviously warring with himself inwardly. His eyes were dark and heavy with desire, and he almost looked  _ confused _ . “I don’t—“

She kissed him again. “Lucius, say you’ll mark me tonight, please.”

“Tonight. We’ll mark you tonight.” His hands slowly slid from her arse up towards her back, pulling her dress in his grip. All the while he moved against her hand and kissed her. When the fabric had been gathered at her waist, he traced the edges of her knickers. His voice was deep and hoarse as he said, “Let me take these with me to Paris, Hermione. I beg you.”

She managed to gain control of the triumphant smile that threatened to break through.  _ Mission accomplished. _ The curly-haired witch moved her mouth to kiss along his handsome jaw. “If you like.”

His fingers –  _ were they trembling slightly? _ –threaded through the leg openings of the tiny garment and pushed them down over her hips. Hermione allowed them to fall to her ankles and kicked them off. Without relinquishing her contact with his shaft, she leaned and snatched up the slip of fabric from the ground with her other hand. She dangled them from a finger. “Is this what you want?”

Lucius seemed to partially regain his faculties at that point. He took one small step back and rubbed a hand over his face. Then he looked down at her with glazed eyes and said in a rasping voice, “Are you quite done torturing me, minx?”

“Is that what I was doing?” Hermione felt a twinge of guilt.  _ I thought we were having fun. _

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It is a very good thing that I am a man of principle, else you might find yourself finishing what you just started.”

“Oops.” She rose on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “I’m sorry, Lucius. Although you know that I wouldn’t be averse to—“

He winced and cut off her sentence with an involuntary groan. “Please, pet. Remove your hand before I am tempted to change my mind.”

Only then did the young witch remember that she still held his hard penis in a firm grip. That was the point where Hermione realized she had the proverbial tiger by the tail, and quailed at the thought of what releasing it might bring.

  
  



	49. Wednesday Morning cont'd

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

_ Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten _

Wednesday Morning cont’d

Hermione was momentarily saved from the consequences of her actions when a noise nearby startled them both. Lucius stepped away from her and, turning slightly away from the entrance to the alcove, gracefully pulled his pale hair back into its habitual queue. She couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled up when she realized her knickers were still dangling from her hand. “Lucius!” She whispered, and when he glanced at her, flung them towards him.

His reaction was automatic and sensual. Catching the slip of silk in one large hand, he crumpled it into a tiny ball and raised it to his face. Then pressing it to his nose, he inhaled through flared nostrils. The young witch was instantly aroused. He stalked back to her, leaning down to speak close to her mouth. “I would be very careful if I were you, pet. It isn’t wise to toy with unforeseeable forces.”

Her merriment persisted. “Like nature? What – you mean you’re going to strike me with a bolt of lightning, Lucius?” _ Actually, I could picture him doing that to someone. _ The thought was somewhat sobering.

Lucius slipped the small garment into a trouser pocket. He fisted his hands in her curls and gently tipped back her head so that she was looking directly up at him. “It is unkind to tease without fulfillment.”

The light pull of his fingers in her hair sent goose bumps of pleasure running along her skin. “I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? Won’t you let me . . . do  _ that _ for you?“ Hermione had been thoroughly enjoying what they’d been doing, and her body was thrumming with a pleasant amount of want. Lucius would only have to say the word, and that feeling would morph into instant need.

The elder Malfoy made a warning sound. “This is neither the time nor the place, although the thought of your willingness to please me is most gratifying.” He kissed her tenderly, covering her mouth with his own in slow, worshipful movements. “If I manage to survive until our wedding, I will be the happiest wizard in the world.”

“I still don’t understand why you think denying yourself any fun is a good idea,” she grumbled. “Does it have something to do with your rules?” When he answered only by moving his mouth along her jaw to nip her ear, she exclaimed quietly, “It does, doesn’t it!”

Lucius kissed the tender spot just under her ear and sighed against her skin. “I constantly forget how much you don’t know about the traditions of pureblood wizardry. As head of our House, I am forbidden to indulge myself in that form of pleasure until after you bear the Malfoy rune. It’s to prevent me from taking advantage of you before you have fully committed your heart and mind to our union.”

Hermione pulled away enough to give him a look of dismay. “And I just delayed it. Would we have done it earlier if we hadn’t been caught up in the quarantine at school?”

“If you had not just learned about the existence of war stakes and House Wives, we would have held the rune ceremony at the end of our binding vows. That is usually when it’s done.”

_ That’s why Astoria had such a head start on me. _ “But why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She raised her hands to cup his face, rubbing her fingers gently along the strong bones of his cheeks.

He turned his head enough to kiss the side of her hand. “Didn’t you feel rushed these past two weeks as it was? What kind of fiancé would push the woman he loves beyond the limits of her own comfort simply for his own pleasure? Draco and I agreed that we would follow the natural course of events and not overwhelm you with everything at any one time.”

“But if you had told me, I wouldn’t have asked you to move it to this evening. Lucius, I’ve changed my mind, I-“ She gripped the front of his robes tightly. 

He shook his head firmly. “No, pet. You may not have understood the ramifications of your choice, but you made it nonetheless and against my counsel. Now you will keep your word even if it means suffering consequences. You must learn to trust that the decisions I make for our House are carefully considered. They are in the best interests of our family.” 

Hermione dropped her head against his chest in frustration. Then she raised it quickly to say, “I hope you realize this is  _ completely _ your fault. I have  _ never _ been impulsive until I accepted that stake. Now, suddenly, I’m making one rash decision after another!”

“Perhaps you should apply your prodigious mind to the correction of that shortcoming.” He was twinkling at her, and she managed a small smile as he pulled her tightly against him for a lingering kiss.

The young witch was reminded immediately of her mistake. She drew away from his mouth. “But I won’t be the one who suffers!” 

“Oh, I think you will,” Lucius murmured against the skin of her neck. “I have some time before I leave to give you a taste of your own medicine. Shall I start now? I know how much you like to play games . . .” He ran one hand up her back, over her shoulder, and down to the front of her sundress. His fingers traced over the curves of her breasts. “Shall I touch you until you beg for more, pet?” They barely skimmed her hardened nipples, moving on down to her stomach. As her body broke out in resultant shivers he whispered in her ear, “I think I shall tease you and make you so very wet, and elicit such pretty noises from that mouth.” His hand ran down over her mound, following its cleft between her legs, which spread of their own accord for him. “And then I shall take you back to your chaperone and watch you squirm until I go.” He covered her mouth with his, delving his tongue between her lips.

Hermione’s brain registered his words, but her body responded before she could even try to stop it. She leaned back over his arm, hands once again gripping his hair as she kissed him passionately. Her torso pushed up against his, and one of her slender legs wrapped around his corresponding thigh.  _ Whatever you want, as long as you touch me. Yes, please. _

Lucius was backing her up now, and she followed his direction blindly until she felt the curving wooden frame of a tall arch behind her. The redolent fragrance of the roses washed over her. His lips moved against hers hungrily, and she could feel that he was smiling. A hand was unbuttoning the front placket of her dress, and the other was raising its skirt. “I’m going to touch and taste your bare skin now, my prize. Would you like that?”

Her answer was inarticulate. Lucius kissed down her neck to the shallow valley between her breasts. He kissed and gently sucked across the curves of lush flesh, ignoring her nipples. Hermione tried to steer his mouth to one, but he chuckled darkly and pulled away. “Such a needy girl already, and I’ve only just started.” 

He was sliding a hand up her bare thigh to the apex of her legs, and Hermione gasped when his fingers parted her labia. They explored her inner crevices, swirled around the wet entrance of her channel, and teased the hood of her clitoris. Her hips bucked, pushing herself against his hand. Lucius swiped his tongue over one tightened bud, only to draw back. At Hermione’s noise of frustration, he murmured against the corner of her mouth. “Would you like more?”

“Mmmmmmm, yes!” Somewhere inside her head there was the faintest thought that perhaps she shouldn’t succumb so easily, but it disappeared in a fog of pure pleasure when her wizard lowered his mouth back to her breast and latched his lips around her nipple. Her body had begun pulsing to the syncopated rhythms of want and need, and she felt the wetness of her arousal drip to the bare skin of one thigh. “Luciussss . . .” That increasingly familiar coil of pressure had begun to wind deep within her abdomen, and every nerve hummed with sensory pleasure.

His clever fingers were spreading the fluid around the sensitive flesh within her outer walls and upward to her clitoris. When she tried to increase the stimulation by moving against his hand, he released his mouth from her breast. “Perhaps just a bit more?” He directed his lips to her other nipple and increased his attention to the hood of her clit. Hermione moaned his name quietly and writhed in the embrace of the arm that wrapped around her waist. Suddenly Lucius pulled away from her breast with a wet, smacking sound and withdrew his hand from between her legs. He raised his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly sucked them clean as she watched with heavy-lidded eyes. “We should go and find our chaperone now.”

Hermione made a sound of disbelief and then realization struck her. She covered her eyes with one hand and groaned. “This is my own doing.”

Lucius took her hand and pressed it to the erection that strained against the front of his trousers. “It may be poor consolation, but I torture myself as well.” He removed her hand away almost immediately, raising it to his lips to press a kiss to the dragon handmark. Lucius seemed to have a change of heart, because he looked at her with a guilty expression and said, “I cannot leave you like this.’

Her body ached for release, but her mind was in control once more. “No – absolutely not! I have nothing to complain about; after all, I’m the one who thought delaying the rune marking was such a good idea. Me and my silly games! Oh, my love – this is how you feel every time we part, isn’t it?”

He kissed her nose as he buttoned up the front of her dress. “The agony is exquisite, is it not?”

“We’ll finish this tonight.” The curly-haired witch pressed a kiss to her wizard’s chin.

Lucius grinned wolfishly. “Lady, the things I will do to you . . . I am planning even now.” His eyes were wild. She recognized the words from their Friday night visit and squirmed, trying to relieve the pleasant ache between her legs.

Hermione bit her bottom lip as she smiled back, trying to ignore the coil that had been left partially wound in her gut. “I think it’s obvious I’m no longer overwhelmed by this engagement. It’s time to tell me everything I need to know.”

Her dress was buttoned, and now he was smoothing her hair behind her shoulders and kissing her nose once more. “That’s what I have been waiting to hear. We will begin immediately. Molly would be a wealth of information, pet. She could at least begin, and then Draco could continue. I will see what I can find for you to read, as well.”

“I like the way you teach me, though. Molly gets so easily sidetracked.” she protested, thinking back to their initial conversation about runes minutes ago.  _ You stayed on task even when I was holding you by your . . . Errrrr. _

Lucius chuckled. He seemed to be thinking of the same thing. “Your approach to learning is very tactile. However, begin this morning with Molly. Now, we should walk a bit to collect ourselves before we return to Mademoiselle Delacour.” He held out his arm courteously and she took it with a grin.

The two spent the next ten minutes walking along the curving paths, arm in arm. Slowly Hermione’s lust-addled state abated, as did her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Lucius appeared to have himself under control as well by the time they wandered back toward the study doors. The chaperone was still standing before the bed of glowing golden roses, a dazed expression on her lovely face. Hermione couldn’t help herself, calling out with as straight a face as she could manage, “Honestly, Fleur – there are other roses in the garden to look at besides those! Are you coming along or not?”

“What? Oh, sorry. I was just . . . What’s so funny?” 

“Errrrr, nothing. Lucius, will you show us more of your flowers this morning?” Hermione turned them both around quickly, gesturing for Fleur to follow. The trio wandered along a different path, further into the garden, and Lucius guided the tour conscientiously. Fleur was entranced by the roses. She walked ahead of the other two, moving from bed to trellis to arch in delight. Eventually they heard Draco calling to them from entrance to the study.

“By the Argutia,” the elder Malfoy replied. His relatively quiet voice could never have carried so far without some form of magic, and Hermione had a fanciful thought that the flowers themselves acted as a communication line. She shook off the odd idea and reached out toward a heavy patch of bright yellow vine roses trailing from an overhead arch. Just being near the blooms amused her for some reason, as if they had just made a clever remark.  _ Argutia means wittiness. Lucius certainly names his plants aptly. _

Draco was rounding the corner just behind them. He took advantage of Fleur’s preoccupation and kissed Hermione within an inch of her sanity. “Good morning, little witch,” he murmured against her lips. “Did you know we’re going to spend the day together?”

The young witch laughed softly. “Only if I survive my visit with Molly and Minerva.”

He straightened and draped an arm over her shoulders, and they trailed beside a smirking Lucius along the path. “I hear Astoria’s coming as well. Perhaps she’ll even the playing pitch.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I can’t decide how I feel about that. No doubt she’ll have learned some new sexual practice that will send Minerva running for the drinks cupboard and lead Molly down a steamy path in Memory Lane. Meanwhile, I’ll be blushing furiously and trying to maintain order. Still, I like her, and she’s given me perspective.”

“That sounds like the Tory Greengrass I’ve heard so much about,” remarked Lucius. At Hermione’s questioning glance, he continued, “Theodore has talked about her incessantly over the years, and she seems to be an archetypical Ravenclaw.”

His comment struck a chord within Hermione’s brain. She exclaimed, “I  _ knew _ it. And I was probably right about the orgies, too.”

Lucius and Draco both laughed. “The witches of Ravenclaw do have a certain reputation within the pureblood circles for their proclivities,” the elder Malfoy offered vaguely. While they had been walking, he had been clipping roses. Now, as they curved back toward the house, he had a large bunch in his hands. Fleur had joined their group, pointing out possible blooms to add to the bouquet in her bossy way.

“Lucius, doesn’t it bother you to cut them? The flowers, I mean.” She gestured to the bouquet.

He smiled, seemingly pleased by her question. “They are meant to be enjoyed.”

“But you treat them as if they’re more than plants . . .” Hermione trailed off in confusion.

“Here on this land, they  _ are _ more. At the same time, they are still only plants, and much of their care involves cutting them in some way or another. Tomorrow, another bloom will have replaced each one I took this morning.” He turned to the younger wizard. “Draco, did you have a chance to look at the schedule I drew up?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry you have to make those two trips. Couldn’t Bertrand or Achille have gone instead?” He added for Hermione’s benefit, “Cousins of ours who happen to serve on the board of directors for Malfoy Industries. There are many people who help run our businesses, but those two hold nearly the same power as Lucius.”

“They will be on their own for some months after the wedding. I agreed to do this for them.”

Draco smirked. “You know that they’ve probably already checked into a spa to prepare for the wedding reception. Achille especially – he’ll try to look at least twenty years younger.”

Lucius nodded with a knowing smile, returning to their original conversation. “And you don’t mind overseeing the comings and goings of the work crews? Molly won’t be easily dealt with, Draco.”

“I’ll have Hermione to help run interference.” He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. “Shouldn’t we be talking about our rune ceremony, though? We’ll need to fit it in before you leave.”

Hermione explained quickly, “That’s been moved to tonight.”

Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly. “That means you’ll be spending the day inside the house.”

Hermione stopped short. “What?! But it’s going to be gorgeous outside, and I want to see-“ Her indignant response was interrupted by Lucius.

He tutted. “No, no, no. He’s right – the Weasley wizards are running loose around the grounds for the next two days, and you will  _ stay away _ from them until you have been marked.” When she glared at him furiously, he added with a warning look, “Can you manage to behave yourself?”

“Yes, Lucius,” she ground out between gritted teeth.  _ That’s the LAST time I try to control him. Worst idea ever.  _ “I will  _ behave myself _ .”

He gave a smug nod. “Excellent. Eventually you will learn that I do not give orders and make schedules simply to inconvenience others, especially my family.”

Draco was thoroughly amused, and the sound of his quiet, throaty chuckle diminished her frustration somewhat. He wound his arm around her waist, pulling her against his side. “We’ll just have to explore the house together.” The idea of wandering through the Manor with Draco was better than any fantasy plot she could have dreamed up, and she swallowed the drool that collected in her mouth. 

“Oh, yes – there are so many places I haven’t yet seen! We can begin right after the breakfast!” Piped Fleur, who had been silent to this point. She had an almost eager expression on her lovely face, and Hermione was brought back to earth instantly.  _ Great. I’m stuck in the house and I have to put up with Mademoiselle BossyPants. _

She smiled feebly. “Sounds incredible.” 

They had reached the steps to Lucius’ study, and he led them through the doors. At his desk he paused and looked at Draco speculatively. “There is the issue of who will get the pleasure of showing Hermione the library.” At the younger wizard’s noise of disappointment, he continued in mock outrage, “As I thought. You were going to bring her there without me, weren’t you!”

At the mention of the word, Hermione’s entire body began vibrating with anticipation. “The library? When can I see it? Can we go now? Please say yes!”

The two men turned to her with expressions of affectionate amusement. They shared a look, and Lucius summoned Trinket. The little house elf appeared at his side. “Good morning to the Lady and Masters! Good morning, Mistress Delacour!”

“These flowers are for the Morning Room. And would you please bring tea to the library?”

“And coffee!” Demanded Fleur in a desperate voice. When the Malfoys both looked at her with raised brows, she added uncertainly, “Please?”

Trinket Disapparated with an enthusiastic crack of magic, and Lucius led the small group across the house. He and Draco pointed out various rooms and objects of interest. Hermione wanted to pause at each item, curiosity nearly eating her alive, but she was kept in check by her two wizards, who had ensnared her in a tangle of their arms. Their trek followed the ground floor of the Manor but seemed circuitous, and at one point Hermione was sure they’d already passed through one room at least once. She said as much, and Fleur replied from slightly in front of her, “The last time I was here I spent a great deal of time being lost in this house. Once you can visualize the rooms, it’s easier to Apparate here and there.”

“That’s a terrible idea!” Interjected Draco, although to Hermione he added quietly, “Unless you’re in a hurry.”

Eventually they approached a set of high doors set under an ornate carving of the Malfoy crest. Draco and Lucius each took hold of a heavy handle, pausing to look at Hermione. “Are you ready, pet?”

The doors swung open, and at the sight of what lay within Hermione immediately swooned. Luckily Draco caught her just as she pitched sideways. He swept her off her feet and carried her through the entrance, saying, “Welcome home, sweetheart.”


	50. Wednesday Morning cont'd some more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been receiving very sweet email notes requesting a downloadable version of BW. My darlings! This is the very reason I have chosen AO3 as its permanent home -- downloads are possible and encouraged! Of course, you'll have to wait until I've completed uploading the story, but patience is a virtue best practiced regularly ;)
> 
> -G-

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

_ Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten _

Wednesday Morning cont’d some more

The library spanned the entire height of the tall house, and it was topped by an immense dome of glass. Floors upon floors of bookshelves, accessible by several spiral staircases along its outer edges, beckoned to her invitingly, and the books themselves had already begun whispering her name. Hermione squirmed out of Draco’s arms, staggering as she spun slowly to take it all in. The enormity of the room was overwhelming. 

“I want to live here,” she said faintly.

Lucius chuckled. “You do, pet.” He continued walking toward the seating area in the middle of the room, where a tea tray had been set on a low table.

The rest of the group followed him. Hermione felt the need to clarify her previous statement, adding, “No, I mean I want to live  _ here _ – eat, sleep,  _ everything _ . I never want to leave.”

Fleur made a disapproving sound. “We are  _ not _ sleeping in here. Ugh.”

Hermione glared at her. “I thought we’d already established that you’re not the boss of me. This is a large room – go find your own part of it, you crabby witch.”

Draco intervened. “We can spend the rest of the day in here if you like.”

Fleur huffed, obviously displeased with the conversation. “Where is the coffee?” She flounced a few steps toward where Lucius was alternately pouring several cups of tea and watching Hermione with an indulgent smile on his handsome face.

The curly-haired witch ignored the chaperone’s histrionics, replying to Draco instead. “Good answer.” She moved away toward the closest shelves of books and parchments. “I’ll just be . . .”

“Don’t you want your tea, pet?” Lucius’ voice carried across the wide space to her retreating form.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder apologetically. “I need to touch books more than anything else at the moment.” Hermione was relieved to see the understanding twinkle in his pale blue eyes.

“I’ll show her around,” she heard Draco say, and a moment later he was at her side. “Come on, all the Arithmancy is shelved on this floor. I’ve been looking forward to showing it to you for a long time.” He guided her along several long aisles, his hand on the small of her back, to a large section of bookcases surrounding another, somewhat smaller, seating area. Draco swept his hand around in a dramatic motion. “Here you go – the Malfoy Arithmancy collection.”

There were hundreds of large, heavy-looking tomes on the shelves, and hundreds more rolls of vellum stored neatly in cubbyholes above her head. To her right was an entire bookcase that seemed to be dedicated to Arithmancy periodicals. The sound of Draco’s voice fell away as Hermione began scanning titles. Everything was clean and tidy, and she soon realized the entire place was organized by a very complex system. She turned to her younger wizard, who was following her closely. “Who takes care of this place? It’s so organized and . . . Oh, wait – is that . . .” she trailed off, distracted by yet another wonder.

Draco reached around her to straighten a large tome that sat marginally out of place. He answered, “It falls under Bowly’s jurisdiction. I’m sure he’s here somewhere . . . Bowly!”

At the Summons, a rather tall, serious-looking house elf Apparated at the wizard’s side and bowed deferentially. “Bowly serves the young Master with pleasure.” In contrast to Trinket’s caffeinated deportment, this male elf was quite subdued. Like the housekeeper, he was clothed rather more than other elves Hermione had seen in the past.

“I would like to introduce you to the Lady Hermione, Bowly. She is a fellow bibliophile.” Draco had placed a hand around Hermione’s waist in a gesture that struck her as both proud and possessive.  _ He’s proud to introduce me as his future wife _ . The thought split in two directions – that Draco truly loved the part of her that had driven most people to distraction over the years, and that this house elf held the same status as Trinket did in terms of her wizards’ respect. 

Bowly bowed deeply to her. “Bowly serves the Lady with pride.” He looked between the two humans as if seeking the reason for his Summons. Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco had become lost in each other’s gaze, and their bodies had turned toward each other until they were wrapped in each other’s arms. They were startled by the sound of the elf clearing his throat. “If there is nothing else, young Master . . .”

Draco gave an embarrassed smile but didn’t relinquish his hold on her. “Nothing else for now, Bowly. Thank you.” She didn’t even hear the familiar crack of the house elf Disapparating, because Draco had leaned down and was kissing her. His mouth brushed against hers reverently, and he held her in his arms as though she were exceedingly fragile. Eventually they both needed to breathe, and he pulled away the tiniest bit. Against the corner of her mouth he whispered, “I can’t believe you’re finally here.  _ Hermione! _ You’re  _ here _ .” His fingers ghosted along her spine.

The young witch looked up at him. His expression was one of ecstatic disbelief, and her heart was instantly overflowing with tenderness. She drew his mouth down to hers for another sweet kiss. “Oh, my Draco -- I’m here.” Against his lips she repeated in a whisper, “I’m right here.”

Draco kissed her again, backing her into the nearest bookcase and setting her on a shelf of convenient height in the process. The feel of the books and the next shelf above pressing into her back sent a spike of desire shooting through her body, and she spread her legs to wrap them around his waist. _All-powerful Circe,_ _I want to have sex with Draco in the library._ Her wizard seemed to be having similar thoughts, because the clutch of his hands on her backside was no longer gentle. _He can be turned on in less than ten seconds. I wonder if that’s typical for a male of his age, or if he really is superior in every single way._ She was jarred from her thoughts by the feel of his lips moving along her jaw to her ear.

“I’m going to seduce you in here,” he breathed, hands moving to slide along her thighs. 

The pleasant throb of want, which Lucius had stirred up in the rose garden, began pulsing in her gut. Hermione kissed his jaw, nibbling it with her lips and teeth in a teasing manner. “I thought that’s what you were doing right now.” She slid her hands through his soft hair and tugged lightly.

Draco wrapped his large hand around her upper legs and dragged her to the very edge of the shelf. Then he was pressing his hips to hers until she could feel his erection pinned between their bodies. Her grip on his hair tightened in anticipation as her body remembered the way they’d moved against each other the day before in the school courtyard, and she willed him to do the same now. Even through the multiple layers of their clothing, the pressure of his hard flesh against her mound was going to drive her mad. _Don’t tease._ “I mean that I’m going to _have_ you _here_ , in the Arithmancy section, Hermione. On that couch.” He moved his mouth along her neck to her shoulder, where he pushed the strap of her sundress to the side and ran his lips on the skin there. “I’ve been dreaming of it for years.”

“Oh,  _ Draco _ . . .” An image, brought to life by his words, sprang to her mind of the two of them lying in a passionate embrace on said couch, surrounded by texts and treatises on her favorite subject. She gasped, pulling him as close to her as humanly possible. “Yes, please.”  _ And start moving. _

He sighed into the base of her neck. “We need to stop.” His voice had that deep, rough quality that always accompanied his arousal. “I can feel Lucius giving me the evil eye from here. We’d better go join him for the tea he ordered.”

Hermione gave a faint moue of protest, but allowed him to step away from her. _That’s exactly what I did to Lucius earlier. I’m an awful, awful fiancée!_ She slid off the shelf, turning to make sure the books were put back to rights, and then smoother her hair and dress without further complaint. She inwardly grimaced as she remembered her knickerless state, feeling decidedly damp at the apex of her legs. _A trip to the loo would be nice right about now._ _I have GOT to stop giving away my undergarments._ Draco was standing slightly hunched, with his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his outer robes, and he gave her a lopsided smirk. “I need to think about off-putting things for a minute or two -- perhaps we could take the long route?”

The young witch nodded in chagrin and clasped her hands around one of his. “Sounds like an excellent idea.” She tried to think of something other than the throbbing ache between her legs. “Tell me what else is shelved on the ground floor.” 

Their walk took them around the perimeter of the room, and although the pace was somewhat leisurely Hermione felt rushed. She catalogued five other sections along the outer walls much like the one for Arithmancy, and each one had its own reading area. Draco offered to give her a thorough tour later that afternoon, although he pouted when she made him promise that it would be devoid of such distractions as his clever hands and beautiful mouth.

When they had circled back to their starting point in the Arithmancy section she finally allowed him to drag her toward the center of the library, where Lucius lounged in the corner of a comfortable-looking leather couch. He sat with his long legs crossed, cup balanced on one knee as he read the  _ Daily Prophet _ . Far across the seating area, on a facing couch, Fleur slumped dramatically as she sipped her coffee with closed eyes. The elder Malfoy looked over the top of his paper as Hermione approached. “How do you find the Malfoy library, my prize?”

She sank onto the couch next to him, curling his outstretched arm around her shoulder and pulling Draco down beside her. Her eyes were once again drawn to the unimaginable wealth of reading and research material surrounding her.  _ And this is only the ground floor of it. _ “It makes me feel rather faint, but in the best of possible ways. How do you manage to leave it, ever?”

“It helps to remind yourself it will be waiting for your return.” The younger wizard had stretched out along the long couch, laying his head on her thigh, and now she ran her fingers through his soft, platinum locks. Draco smiled up at her blissfully. “When I was younger, I made forts out of these couch cushions and Lucius would crawl inside to read to me.”

Lucius kissed the top of her head and stroked his hand down her arm. When he reached her elbow, he gave Draco a light jab in the shoulder. “Yes, you began coming here on your own as soon as you could navigate the house. If I hadn’t forced you to spend part of every day outside, you would have been the palest, sickliest of bookworms.”

Their banter continued on for a while, and eventually Hermione tuned out the actual words in pursuit of her own thoughts. They were once again filled with images and snippets of the fairy tales her mother had told her long ago.  _ I’m the princess in this story. _ She nestled down against Lucius’ shoulder, feeling the solid weight of Draco’s head on her thigh _.  _ Her fingers were tracing the beautiful lines of his face. _ These are the princes, handsome and virtuous. _ The young witch looked up at the elder Malfoy, who was in turn watching her with a soft light in his eyes.  _ They fought a war in pursuit of my hand, guided by an ancient magic. _ Her gaze was pulled back to the overwhelming treasure surrounding them.  _ And this is my castle. _ It was better than any story she’d ever read, and it was all true.

The quiet clink of porcelain released her from her reverie. Lucius had set down his cup and paper and was raising his free hand to her chin, holding it gently while he bent to kiss her briefly. His hand dropped to her shoulder, thumb rubbing against her collarbone, as he broke the kiss. She was about to protest when he said, “It’s nearly eight o’clock. Now would be a good time to talk about tonight.”

Draco remained where he was and closed his eyes when Hermione began running her fingers through his hair once again. He spoke in a lazy voice. “I vote to hold the ritual as soon as you get home. What time do you anticipate finishing in Paris?”

Hermione glanced at Lucius again and saw that he was gazing at her intently. “I will do everything I can to be home well before dinner. Do you have any questions, pet?”

She smirked, raising one eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t even know where to begin. Just . . . start somewhere. I’ll interrupt where necessary.”

Lucius smiled in return. “You’ll pick the rune this afternoon with Draco, and tonight Fleur will escort you to the place of the ceremony.”

“Where is that?”

“Here in the library.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “There is a place on the third floor, in the ancient Runes section, that has been prepared. It seemed fitting, and the lighting will be particularly good.”

Hermione leaned into his touch. “What needed to be done to it? When did you do it?”

Lucius’ hand moved to play with her curls. “The floor has been marked much as it was for our binding ceremony, and I have set the traditional wards and charms in place already. Mademoiselle Delacour’s position is delineated as well. I did all that this past weekend.”

“What do you mean, ‘delineated’?”

He seemed to be considering his words. “Great latitude is given during this ceremony, and, to a certain extent, afterward. Our chaperone can do little to stop anything except the grossest breach of our courtship rules. In fact, she will be unable to see or hear much of the ceremony. Do you understand what this means, my lovely one?”

_ I think I do.  _ She looked up at him, biting her lip to contain at least part of her self-conscious yet delighted smile. “We’re going to have lots of fun tonight?” As soon as the light comment had left her mouth, it occurred to her that this was the first time she’d had such a conversation in the presence of both her wizards, and a hot blush burned across her face at the thought. A glance at Draco, still closed-eyed on her lap, showed that he was deeply flushed, too. Hermione peeked up at Lucius out of the corner of her eye. He was grinning at her in amusement, and as usual his confidence put her at ease.  _ For Circe’s sake – I’m marrying them the day after tomorrow. How can I still be embarrassed?  _ The young witch resumed her ministrations to Draco’s pale hair and queried, “Well, are we?”

“Indeed,” chuckled Lucius. He continued, “And because of this, the wards and charms I set will help us  _ follow _ the rules.”

“ _ Merciful Merlin _ – you mean to say that the consequence of breaking one is going to be a lot bigger than a shock!” Hermione finally comprehended his vague wording. 

It was Draco’s turn to laugh, and he treated the young witch to a soft, husky one that threatened to turn her to a pile of goo. “I for one will be on my very best behavior tonight. We can go see the spot later, if you like.”

_ So I’ll pick the rune, and Fleur won’t be watching. So far, nothing to worry about, other than the fact that all three of us . . .  _ she couldn’t finish that thought even in the privacy of her mind at the moment without turning a vibrant shade of vermillion _. _ “What else should I know?”

Just then Trinket Apparated beside them.  _ Even her Apparations are energetic-sounding _ . “The guests have arrived, Lady and Masters! Trinket has seated them in the Morning Room, and breakfast is waiting to be served!” She bobbed an ecstatic curtsy, smiling in excitement.

Just like that, her semi-private moment with her wizards was done, and Hermione flopped back against the couch in protest. Fleur came over immediately and hovered nearby, her pre-caffeine funk replaced by her usual bossiness. “You have visitors waiting – it’s rude to make them wait, Hermione!”

Hermione growled halfheartedly. “I’m not five, Fleur! And I happen to know that they’ll be just fine on their own for a few minutes.”

Draco sighed and raised himself gracefully from Hermione’s lap. Lucius chuckled and helped her to her feet. “If you don’t mind, we’ll walk with you.”

Fleur intercepted Draco’s attempt to hold Hermione’s hand by nearly dragging the curly-haired witch away from him. “Oh, no – you two have spent enough time together this morning. I’ve been more than generous.”

The young witch narrowed her eyes in a warning look, but just then her stomach rumbled loudly. She was very much tempted to stomp her foot and yell, but managed to refrain from such childish behavior at the last second. Instead she ground out between gritted teeth, “As much as I’m loath to pander to your demands, you troll, I’m ravenous. Let’s go.”

Fleur looked at her with a brief flash of humor. “When I have had more coffee, Hermione, I will find that amusing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to each and every one of you kind, encouraging readers who have left notes on the story to date!
> 
> -G-


	51. Wednesday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday Morning

The trek across the house seemed somewhat faster to Hermione because she recognized several landmarks along the way. A rudimentary map was beginning to form in her head, and she added things to it as she walked. The enormous house looked to have even proportions from the outside, but within its walls was a maze of high-ceilinged hallways, staircases, and galleries. “Isn’t the Morning Room on the first floor? I thought we passed through it last night.” She was confused because they had gone up and down several flights of stairs already.

“Yes, it’s on the east side of the house directly across from my study,” Lucius replied. He walked with her in the somewhat formal way he seemed to prefer –her arm drawn under his, with her hand resting on his broad forearm. Draco was on her other side, and his hand rested on the small of her back. It was the first time the three of them had walked anywhere in this manner, and she was struck by the balance and rightness of it. Fleur floated gracefully directly behind them, and Hermione tried to ignore her completely.

“Then why are we going up and down staircases?”

Draco chuckled. “It’s faster this way, trust me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! How can it-“  _ Why am I arguing about something he clearly knows more about than I?  _ “Never mind. I believe you.” 

Eventually they found themselves outside the tall doors of the Morning Room. The Malfoy men paused, sharing a quick glance. Hermione was instantly suspicious. “What was that look for? What’s going on?”

Fleur made a strangled sound. “You’re either hungry or you’re not, Hermione! Let’s go!  _ I need more coffee _ .”

Draco recovered quickly and gave her a (had she been wearing any) knickers-dropping almost-smile. “Ready for your sex-addled biddies?”

“Is  _ that _ what you’re nervous about?” Suddenly she brightened. “Why – are you planning to stay and join the conversation?”

“A wise man avoids the company of more than one woman at a time, pet,” Lucius intoned with a smirk. “Come along.”

The two men drew open the doors, and Fleur brushed past, obviously in search of the coffee pot. Hermione wandered into the room she’d seen only in passing the evening before. She took in the way the morning light, streaming through the wall of opened French windows, transformed the large area. Flowers bloomed everywhere in huge planters, and the small trees she’d admired previously filled the high spaces above her head with bright color. For a moment, she didn’t notice anything else other than the beauty of the columned room.  _ It’s awfully quiet in here for Molly and Minerva together.  _ Then she realized that tiny twinkling lights and gauzy streamers had been strung through the trees surrounding the central seating area, and that there were more than three guests seated on the couches.

“Ginny? Lu? What are you-“ 

She was cut off by the combined shrieks of all the witches present. “Surprise!”

Hermione blinked, speechless. She turned to her wizards. “What is this?” She gestured vaguely toward the middle of the room with one hand.

“It would appear to be a surprise party in your honor, my lovely.” Lucius took her by the hand and led her down the shallow steps to where her guests were already making their way toward her. She was immediately snatched into a tight embrace by Molly Weasley and eventually passed along to Minerva, who first set down a champagne flute filled with a bright orange beverage.

The professor took the young witch by the hands, squeezing them in her own and blinking back tears. “Oh, my dear girl!” The older witch was so overcome with emotion that she quickly turned her back to wipe at the tears on her cheeks.

Astoria was the next to hug her. “I’m so glad to share another breakfast with you, Hermione! We have so much to talk about! I can’t wait to show you my-“

_ That sentence won’t end well. _ She interrupted quickly, “Astoria, it’s lovely to see you! Let me just say hello to Gin and Lu before we sit down, won’t you?”

Luna was smiling sweetly, and Ginny was grinning like a madwoman when Hermione fled toward them. “You have no idea how  _ thrilled _ I am to see the two of you,” she whispered to the redhead when they hugged. Aloud she said, “I thought you had plans for this morning!”

Luna beamed at her. “We can have uninhibited sex with Harry any time, but you only have one wedding shower. Isn’t that right, Gin?” she turned her dreamy eyes toward Fleur, who had approached them holding a steaming mug of coffee. “Who’s this, ‘Mione?”

Hermione braved a direct glance at the breathtaking chaperone and felt a pang of sympathy for her. Fleur’s chin was raised defiantly, and she had the same icy expression on her lovely features that she’d worn all yesterday.  _ Poor Fleur – coffee deprived for hours and now surrounded by women! And she’s still getting over the fact that I’m not a pushover. _ She stepped toward her newest friend and linked their arms in a gesture of solidarity. “Girls, this is my friend Fleur Delacour. She also happens to be our chaperone. Errrrr, hang on. We’re going to need to cast a rather large Interpretor.”

Hermione dragged her guests together and cast the charm that would allow them all to converse easily. She watched Luna and Astoria engage Fleur in pleasant conversation almost immediately, seeming not to be affected by her Veela heritage. Molly and Ginny, however, watched with hackles raised.

_ Oh, no, no, no. I’ll not have anyone treat Fleur less than kindly. _ She chuckled internally.  _ I’m starting to talk like Lucius.  _ To the Weasley women she said quietly, “Molly and Ginny, she’s very nice after she gets her coffee, and also very used to women being extremely uncharitable toward her. I hope you’ll give her a chance.” As an afterthought she added, “It helps if you don’t look at her directly.”

At that moment, Lucius spoke. “Far be it from me to interrupt this gathering, but Draco and I must bid you all good morning.” He bowed in the group’s general direction, and then kissed Hermione’s hand when she went to him.

“Surely you’re not leaving right away? You haven’t eaten yet.” She tugged at his hand hopefully.

He retained her hand in his, rubbing his thumb back and forth along its back. “My portkey is set for fifteen minutes from now.”

Minerva called out from where she sat. “Oh, Lucius – don’t even pretend you’re going to leave. You haven’t missed one of our meetings yet!” 

Lucius cleared his throat meaningfully. Suddenly, like tumblers in a complex lock, vague memories of that sound, along with images of her first meetings in the Headmaster’s office, clicked into place in Hermione’s brain:  _ A throat being cleared, a hanging tapestry, and the way Professor Dumbledore and Minerva seemed to include both in their conversations. Both her wizards knowing that she’d met with Astoria before she told them herself.  _ She rounded on the Malfoy men furiously and hissed quietly, “In the hall.” Hermione turned to her guests. “We’ll just be a moment.”

Fleur, whose equilibrium seemed to have been restored by adequate caffeine intake, set down her mug and floated gracefully to Hermione’s side. She looked the tiniest bit amused and murmured for only the curly-haired witch to hear, “This should be good.”

The two witches swept out ahead of Lucius and Draco, who only paused to bow in the direction of the other ladies. As soon as they’d exited the room, she slammed the doors shut with a flick of her wand. She blinked furiously and paced back and forth, stabbing her finger towards them as she said, “ _ You _ . And  _ you _ ! You were behind the tapestry in Professor Dumbledore’s office when I accepted the stake! And during the breakfasts with Molly and Astoria! And every other one of my meetings with the Headmaster and Minerva!  _ You eavesdropped on my private conversations! _ ”

Fleur blended into the wall behind them, and Hermione promptly forgot her presence. Draco was looking at her wide-eyed, like an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, but Lucius was unrepentant. His amused smirk raised her ire to yet another, much higher level. “Aaah -- the kitten finally shows her claws.”

“Hermione, please don’t misunderstand-“

She cut off Draco’s quiet plea. Was her hair actually emitting sparks? She could feel the electricity of her temper crackling within her very bones! “You had no right! How dare you!” She stood as tall as she could and tilted her head back, glaring at the elder Malfoy in outrage. Then she put her hands on her hips in a challenging stance. “You will apologize to me immediately.”

In hindsight, she realized her tone may have been a bit peremptory. Suddenly Lucius  _ loomed _ . He leaned forward just enough so that any superiority of stance Hermione had held for that short amount of time was lost, and he looked down at her with a warning look in his glacial eyes. “It would be wise for you to carefully consider your words, pet.”

Her hands fell from her hips of their own accord, and she shifted uncertainly under his penetrating gaze. She gulped, dropped her eyes, and changed her tone somewhat. “I would like to know why you invaded my privacy like that.”

Lucius’ eyes were still slightly narrowed when she chanced a quick glance back up at his face. “It was within our rights.” He sighed, holding out his arms to her. Hermione’s limbs responded automatically, stepping into his embrace before she realized what she had done. She felt him press his lips against the top of her head, and the tender action soothed her temper somewhat. He continued, “Again, you have the disadvantage of not understanding courtship tradition. All this time, I’d assumed that Minerva had explained the most basic of them to you when she was meeting with you privately in her rooms. Those we did  _ not _ see or hear.”

“She was busy talking me out of running away,” the young witch growled, “and then she mainly focused on my courtship rules and the binding ceremony.” It was her turn to sigh, and then she turned to Draco.

The younger Malfoy drew closer hesitantly. In the tone of voice one might use to attempt to calm a savage beast, he explained, “Wizards have the right to watch their stake being offered to their Bespoke Witch. They aren’t allowed to influence her decision in any way, and so they must remain silent and unseen. When you didn’t say anything ever, I thought you just didn’t want to talk about your meetings. Forgive me, please.”

Hermione found his earnest entreaty adorable and gave him a small smile. “Come here, you silly snake.” She pulled him down until he was leaning close to her face and kissed his cheek. “It’s a very good thing I’m so stubborn and want to marry you, because these rules and traditions might send a lesser Muggle-born witch packing.”

Draco brushed his lips against hers. She sensed him relax, and he said, “I’m so very glad you’re stubborn, Miss Granger.”

Hermione’s anger had subsided at the realization that they hadn’t known the extent of her ignorance. “We’re going to search that entire library for information on pureblood courtship and marriage traditions, and then we’ll hunt for everything we can find on house wives.”

“Agreed.” Draco looked at Lucius, who still held Hermione in his arms. “I’ll give you two a moment, since you’re leaving shortly.” He stepped back.

Hermione turned her attention to Lucius. “Who planned this wedding shower?”

“Draco and I, with the help of Molly.” He ran one long finger over the curve of her cheek.

“That was very sweet of you, although something tells me it was less about a romantic gesture than it was about the fact that I’m an orphan. Does tradition dictate that you take that responsibility?”

“It was neither romance nor responsibility -- we did it for our Bespoken one because we love her.”

“Oh.” She was speechless for a moment. “Really?”

The elder Malfoy was twinkling at her, and almost immediately she forgot why she had been so angry. “Despite her temper.”

She melted into a small pile of goo right there in the hallway. “I need to kiss you.” Hermione flung herself into Lucius’ open arms and pulled him down to her level. Their lips moved against each other lovingly, tongues pushing and sliding against each other sensuously until Hermione moaned softly into his mouth. Fleur cleared her lovely throat. The curly-haired witch drew back just enough to murmur, “I apologize for my disrespect, my love.”

“Maroon and gold,” he intoned. He kissed her again, and she felt him smile against her lips. “In the future, I won’t assume you know everything.”

Draco had been standing quietly beside them, watching her with a relieved expression. As she pulled away from Lucius she caught the younger wizard’s eye, and Hermione felt it only fair to kiss him in the same spirit of apology. As with most of their intimate moments, it escalated quickly and would have resulted in Hermione being pinned to the nearest wall and Draco’s hair being tugged into disarray, had not their chaperone intervened. “That is quite enough, you two.”

Hermione counted to ten, took a deep breath, and said to both Draco and Fleur, “And while we’re in the library, we can draw up some basic chaperone ground rules for the next few days. I’m sure we can come to some agreement.”

Fleur pursed her full lips in thought and then nodded hesitantly. “I agree to consider your suggestions.”

_ I’ll take it. _ “Sounds good to me.” She turned to Lucius, reaching up a hand to play with one of his waistcoat buttons. “I want you here today. Isn’t there any way you can stay home with us?”

He appeared to be considering something carefully, and she tugged the button hopefully. Finally he said, “I really must go, but I will do what I can do to cut the meeting as short as possible. Perhaps . . .” He nodded and bent to kiss her nose. “If I send my Patronus ahead of me, will you meet me in my garden?”

Hermione pulled him down for a sweet kiss. “Of course, my love.”

Lucius gave her a disappointingly chaste kiss, and Hermione was about to give in to her disappointment when he raised his cane between their torsos. He was watching her, one eyebrow raised, as he ran one hand slowly down its length. She squirmed in place, trying to rub her slim thighs together.  _ Now would be an excellent time to be wearing knickers. _ “Be a good girl while I’m gone, pet.” With the thumb of his free hand, he rubbed her bottom lip back and forth, back and forth.

Impulsively she grabbed the cane and kissed the top of the snakehead with a flick of her tongue. She looked up at Lucius through her eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”

He shook his head slowly, laughing through his nose. “You may well kill me yet. Come here, and let me give you a proper good-bye kiss.” Lucius proceeded to give her one of his tonguefuls, moving his strong mouth against hers until she was dizzy, and ignoring Fleur’s protests completely. When he pulled back, he swiped his thumb against her bottom lip once more. Rub, rub, rub. Then with one last kiss to her forehead, Lucius was gone. Hermione watched him stride gracefully away from her down the hallway until he was out of sight. 

“Enough wasting time. We have a busy day – let’s get started, Hermione!” Fleur’s arms were crossed over her chest and her foot was tapping impatiently. Her face, however, bore an understanding expression.

_ Aha – she enjoyed the view, too!  _ Hermione gave a Malfoy-esque smirk. She said in an undertone, “ _ Je ne sais quoi? _ ”

Fleur rolled her eyes and actually gave a real smile. “Meh, he’s all right. I think I’d grow tired of all that blond hair, though.”

Draco chuckled, opening one tall door and holding out his hand towards Hermione. “Shall we try this again?”


	52. Wednesday Morning pt 2

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday Morning pt 2

Hermione’s immediate response to her wizard’s remark was to squeeze his hand and say happily, “You’re going to stay, Draco? Oh, please say you will!”

“Uhhh . . .” 

He glanced down at her with an uncertain look, and Hermione tried pouting her lips the way she’d seen other girls do. “Pretty please?” 

It seemed to work. Draco said reluctantly, “Very well, but just for breakfast.” He gestured for them to pass through the door.

The young witch turned to her chaperone as they all walked back into the Morning Room together. “Fleur, did you know about this shower?”

“The Malfoys requested that I keep the three of you on schedule this morning, but didn’t say why. I’m sorry to say that I don’t have a shower present for you.” Fleur said this in her usual abrupt manner, but Hermione interpreted it in the spirit it was meant.  _ She feels a bit guilty.  _ Her brain jumped ahead several moves in the conversation, chose a course of strategy, and rated its chances of success fairly high.

“That’s quite all right – although if you really feel badly, you could always reconsider your chaperoning tactics and call that a present.” 

Fleur hesitated and said cautiously, “Perhaps we can negotiate a treaty of sorts after the party.”

“If it would make you feel better about not having a gift for me, then I think it’s a good idea.” Hermione wondered if she was laying it on too thick, but Fleur’s normally suspicious nature didn’t catch on to the ploy. 

It looked as though Astoria was regaling the two older witches with some lurid tale, while Ginny and Luna curled up together like two cats across from them. The redhead perked up as Hermione approached. “What was that all about?”

Hermione glanced around the seating area and ventured, “Oh, nothing, really – I just wanted to say goodbye to Lucius.”  _ Time to change the subject. _ “Well, errrrr . . . shall we eat?” She looked around. “Draco, do you suppose Trinket would-“

At the mention of her name, the house elf appeared near the open French windows. Shortly after, a large round table heavily laden with food materialized beside her. The fresh morning breeze picked up the enticing smell of warm pastries and fresh fruit, and the group made their way across the large room. Trinket curtsied dramatically. “Breakfast is served!” 

Draco remained standing at Hermione’s elbow until the ladies had seated themselves, and then he pulled out her chair for her. Blushing at his chivalry, the young witch sank into her own seat and pulled him down to the one beside her. The food was passed, and there was silence while everyone enjoyed the first few bites. When she reflected on it later, Hermione realized she should have appreciated the quiet more.

She had just broken off a bite of pain au chocolate (or ‘chocolatine’, as Fleur had corrected in her bossy-big-sister voice) and put it in her mouth when things began to go sideways. Molly asked her, “What will you three be doing after the honeymoon, Hermione?”

Hermione swallowed her bite of food. ”I’ve been a little distracted since we got here, and we haven’t done much talking,” she answered cautiously, glancing at Draco out of the corner of her eyes. He was looking down at his plate with a concerned look as she finished, “I’m not really in a position to say yet, really.”

Luna, who seemed to have been off in her own world until just then, piped up. “Positions? Which one do you think you two will try for your first time?” She raised her slightly unfocused eyes to Hermione and moved them to Draco with pleasant expectation.

The curly-haired witch blushed to the roots of her hair. “Would someone please pass the Mimosa pitcher? My glass seems to be empty!” Despite trying to create a diversion, she was telling the truth -- the first drink had gone down quickly and smoothly. On the plus side, it was already sending a slight buzzing sensation along her limbs.

Molly was laughing and clapping her hands. “Oh, you darling girl -- of course you’ve been  _ very  _ distracted! Why, I’m sure you’ve done very little talking at all! Minerva and I placed bets on how many times—“

It was Draco’s turn to interrupt. “Molly, you’ve put such tremendous effort into wedding preparations – how can we ever thank you?” His tone was confident and charming, but when Hermione stole a peek at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw that he was beet red. She reached under the table for his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

Minerva, who was working away at her own pitcher of the fizzy orange alcoholic beverage, joined the conversation. “You should send her and Arthur to a wizarding couples’ resort. The Harmandir Sahib in Mumbai is run by a former Ravenclaw – it’s very kinky, I hear!”

“You don’t need to do anything – I did this as a gift to the three of you,” Molly replied firmly.

Draco’s blush had ebbed, but Hermione was filled with a sense of foreboding.  _ No, no, no, no, no!!! _ Her wizard continued, “Of course I need to do something, Molly – you’ve been my favorite aunt all my life. Have your bags packed before you arrive on Friday, because I’m going to do whatever it takes to book you and Arthur a room at that resort.” He flashed the older witch a dazzling smile.

Astoria bounced up and down in her chair with obvious delight. “I  _ know _ the owners of the Harmandir! They’re friends of my parents. Sai and Avani Khan were  _ both _ Ravenclaws, and their integration of bondage into tantric sex is amazing. And  _ speaking _ of amazing,” she continued, flashing Hermione an angelic smile and raising one hand to the buttons of her sundress, “I’ve been dying to show you my-“

“Ginny! How is Grimmauld Place?” Hermione interrupted desperately.  _ Whatever she has under that dress cannot be allowed to see daylight. _

Fleur looked slightly confused. She looked from Hermione to Draco and said, “What’s-“

Ginny interrupted innocently.  _ Too _ innocently. “Same old place – dusty, dark, inhabited by that horrid house elf. Why?” She turned to Astoria. “What did you want to show us, Tory?”

The beautiful blonde Ravenclaw wasted no time. She said proudly as she unbuttoned the front of her dress, “My piercings! Look – Theo did them himself!” Suddenly, her dress was wide open and Hermione saw a pair of enviable breasts, the nipples of which were both pierced with bejeweled silver hoops. They were connected by a delicate, split chain that draped between them and then ran down over the milky skin of her stomach.  _ Holy mother of Merlin, I think that’s connected to . . . _ Hermione’s internal commentary was cut short by Astoria, who was running her fingers along the chain. “He finally pierced the hood of my clit last night! Isn’t it  _ amazing _ ?”

For a brief moment, the curly-haired witch found herself mesmerized by the motion of Astoria’s fingers along the chain and her accompanying expressions of pleasure. The blue and green gemstones flashed in the light, contrasted perfectly by creamy skin and pale pink nipples.  _ Sweet Circe, she has the most perfect breasts . . . _ She wondered what it felt like, and what the Notties thought of the piercings.  _ Of course they like it – they did it!  _ Her eyes slid to Draco’s speculatively, to find him hiding behind a napkin. Astoria was tugging gently on the vertical chain now, and humming in apparent pleasure.

Hermione was pulled out of her helpless staring by a choked noise from beside her.  _ Draco! _ She snapped back to her senses. “Thank you, Astoria! All right, you can put those bad girls away now. Errrrr . . . Draco, do you need a drink?”

Her wizard was beyond red. The skin of his face was almost purple, at least what could be seen from behind the napkin. Hermione filled his water glass and handed it to him. “I need to leave  _ now _ ,” he whispered desperately. He stood up so quickly that he tripped on the leg of his chair. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve just remembered something that needs doing immediately.” He looked everywhere but at the blond Ravenclaw who had paused with her fingers on the chain.

Hermione wrapped an arm around Draco’s side and shot a nasty glance around the table. “I’ll just walk you to the door. No, Fleur, you stay here.” 

The chaperone, somewhat distracted by the ongoing show, nodded and remained at the table. They crossed the large room and stood alone in the doorway, hidden by a row of large columns. Draco murmured in his serious way, “Hermione, I swear to you that I closed my eyes the moment she began to unbutton her dress. I saw nothing.”

The young witch looked at him “But you were blushing – surely you saw her . . . her . . . _ you know _ .”

“She had just bared herself in front of me! Of course I was embarrassed!” He sounded shocked.

“You didn’t see anything at all?”

“I looked away when she undid that first button. I have no desire to see Astoria Greengrass unclothed.”

“She has amazing breasts.” Even to herself she sounded insecure.

Draco’s eyes dropped to her chest. “I’ve never noticed. I like your breasts.”

“Really?” She looked down and raised her hands to cup the small orbs. “They’re definitely not amazing.”

Draco leaned down and put his hands over hers. “I think they are. Do you remember the first time I . . .?” His fingers flexed, and Hermione rearranged their hands so that his were underneath hers. He squeezed the lush flesh and rubbed her nipples through her dress until they both gasped quietly. “You, on the other hand, can unbutton your dress any time for me.”

“Draco . . . mmmmmmm . . . do you . . . does that appeal to you? You know . . .” Hermione was grappling with the knowledge that the idea, at least, of her friend’s piercings had been arousing.  _ Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been turned on since Lucius wound me up in the garden, and now Draco’s got his hands on me . . . _

The young wizard groaned quietly. “I’m still stuck on the thought of you unbuttoning your dress. Let me enjoy that image a bit longer.” He stole one last, brief, hungry kiss, releasing one breast and gripping her arse with his free hand. The motion brought her abdomen flush with his erection. Draco sighed, dropping his head against her shoulder. His hands stayed where they were, but he said, “I really do need to leave – and not just because Lucius was right about Ravenclaws. There’s a lot to get done this morning if we’re to spend the entire afternoon in the library.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging the soft locks into disarray _. _ “What did he say about Ravenclaws?”  _ I will remember to use our time in the library wisely, and not be distracted by Draco. Much. _

Draco kissed his way up her neck and thrust his hips against her once. “One is terrifying, but two can make a grown man cry. He once told me never to enter their commons at Hogwarts – now I understand why. How long do you think those women would let me keep you here?” He’d backed her against the nearest column, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together. _ Hang the research – I’ll have the rest of my life to learn as I go. It’ll be just me and Draco . . . and Fleur. _ The last part of that thought was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her head.

Aided by that, she processed his words finally. Several scenarios came to mind, none of which were ideal. Hermione pushed against Draco’s chest until he released her and stepped back. “Please go before one of them comes to drag me back. At least you can save yourself.”

Thankfully, it was Fleur who came round the columns looking for her just then. The irony wasn’t lost on Hermione.  _ Who’d ever have thought I’d be happy to be interrupted by Fleur?  _ When the two witches got back to the table, the others looked at her expectantly. Astoria, finally clothed again, asked, “Is he gone?”

“Yes, no thanks to you!” Hermione took her seat and began picking at the cooled chocolatine once more. 

Molly said, “Thank goodness! Now we can  _ really  _ talk!”

“Well done, Astoria!” chimed Ginny.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. She gazed at each smirking face and recognized that her only ally was Fleur Delacour. They shared a wide-eyed look, and then the chaperone lifted her chin determinedly and nodded as if to say ‘ _ let’s do this’. _ “You mean to say you were trying to get rid of Draco?”

“Of course – this is a wedding shower. Men aren’t allowed.” Astoria explained as if to a very young child or very stupid person.

“Why’d you feel the need to do it  _ that  _ way? You could have just asked him – it wasn’t as if he wanted to be here in the first place!”

“That would have worked, too.” It looked as though the thought was only just occurring to Astoria. “Oh, well.” She added brightly, “So what did you think of my piercings?”

Hermione planted her face in one open palm. Meanwhile, Minerva seemed to be feeling the effect of the Mimosas. “What  _ I _ want to know is why you aren’t bearing the Malfoy rune yet!”

The curly-haired witch gaped. “You can tell?”

“Of course we can tell, sweetheart! Anyone who knows about that tradition can tell just by looking at you,” said Molly. “And besides, your handmark hasn’t faded.”

Molly’s comment brought back Lucius’ words from earlier that morning:  _ ‘the meaning of the rune a house wife bears is a secret shared only between her and her husbands, and it is visible only to those who are looking for it.’ _ “Oh. I thought you had to  _ look- _ look for it. You know.”

“It only takes a glance. If you were already marked, we’d see a glow about you. Now that you know how it works, look at Tory and see if you can tell,” said Ginny.

Sure enough, armed with this new knowledge Hermione detected an aura of light around her friend’s body. “I see it! Thank you for explaining that.”

“Don’t think you can dodge my question, Miss Granger,” Minerva said sternly.

“Oh, errrr . . . it seems that Lucius and Draco agreed at the beginning of the courtship to let it follow its natural course. This morning I learned when it’s usually done, so I’m sure when I ran out of the binding ceremony they decided to let me set the pace.” Here she looked at her former head of house reprovingly. “They’ve been assuming all along that I knew far more than I actually do. We were going to do it this morning, but I ignorantly got Lucius to agree to move it to tonight.”

Minerva winced. “Oh, dear. I’d assumed you began researching pureblood marriage traditions straight away. It seemed logical, given your incessant thirst for knowledge and the fact that you didn’t ask any questions. And I can only imagine how you managed to get Lucius Malfoy to that!” She drained another Mimosa with gusto and hiccupped. “Why didn’t you, incidentally? Research, I mean.”

“I’ve been a little . . . distracted.”  _ Well, that just sounds lame. _ She tried again. “I haven’t been myself for the past two weeks – my priorities are different, I can’t concentrate, and my principles – I give in to almost everything, and can’t seem to stay mad even when I have good cause!”

“You’re in love,” sighed Molly happily. “The first months are like that.”

Ginny added, “Don’t worry – it doesn’t last long. Before you know it, you’ll be your old self.”

“I’ve gone about this whole thing backwards! You all knew your wizards before you got serious with them, and you knew all these traditions. What happens when this love-haze is gone, and we’re still getting to know each other? Will we only be bound together by magic?”  _ Will they still love me then? Will I still love them?  _

Molly got up from her chair and rounded the table, pulling Hermione into a tight hug. She seemed to have read the young witch’s thoughts, because she whispered in her ear, “That’s when you’ll understand what being Bespoken truly means. The covenants don’t make us love someone, and they don’t influence whom we choose. They simply identify individuals who are so right, so  _ perfect _ for us that it  _ seems _ created by magic. You’ve found your true loves, sweetheart, and they’ve found you. You’ll be happier than you can ever imagine. You’ll also be frustrated by them regularly and even angry with them sometimes. The only magic involved is the kind you create together with the help of your family covenant. It’s the most powerful magic you can imagine.” She pulled away just enough to catch her eye as she finished, “I promise.”

Hermione hugged Molly in an equally fierce grip. The comfort emanating from the older witch was almost palpable, and she soaked it up greedily.  _ Even though I’m not marrying into her family, she treats me like a daughter.  _ “Thank you, Molly.” 

“Of course, of course!” She kissed Hermione’s forehead tenderly. “Now let’s sit you down and fill that plate up. Sit! No arguments, young lady.” With that, the emotional moment was gone and Molly had returned to her usual, domineering, and slightly irritating self. Hermione sighed and dropped her napkin back onto her lap.  _ I guess I’m not done eating. _

Luna smiled dreamily from her table spot. “There must be other things you don’t know, ‘Mione. What else can we help you with?”

Hermione gulped down the rest of her drink.  _ Lucius said this would be a good opportunity to learn. _ “I’m going to need quite a bit more alcohol before I’m ready for that.”  _ I might need it just to make it through this shower. _

The conversation swirled around in its usual gutter of choice, with Astoria updating them all raptly about her improvement in oral sex, Molly’s fond remembrances, and Minerva’s side commentary. Only now Ginny and Luna had been added to the mix, and Lucius had been right – Ravenclaws were terrifying in groups of more than one. Luna was asking, “Where will you be joining with Lucius and Draco-“

Minerva spluttered into her drink and interrupted, “I’ll tell you  _ where _ she’ll be joined to them-“

Hermione interrupted her quickly, blushing.  _ This woman teaches impressionable children! _ “Honestly, I have no idea. I intend to rectify that situation in the next day and a half.”

“Speaking of rectums, you’re going to love my gift!” Astoria said eagerly.

_ Good Merlin . . . _ “I didn’t say-“

“Oooh, let’s do gifts! We can talk at the same time!” Luna had already hopped up and was skipping toward the couches.

Molly said, “We should shut the doors. The boys will be working near the labyrinth, and if I know Lucius he’ll have already told you to stay far away from them until you’ve been marked tonight.”

The young witch sighed. The breeze was lovely, and she didn’t like being reminded yet again of her mistake. “You’re right, I suppose. Would someone mind . . .?” She gestured toward the doors. “I’m not going anywhere near them.”  _ Somehow the worst possible scenario would unfold, and Lucius would find out. _

Fleur got up and went to follow Molly’s suggestion but paused on the threshold, inadvertently drawing attention to herself. Hermione was reminded once again of the disparity between the chaperone’s allure and the way she dressed. Her dark-colored dress was modestly cut and covered her from the top of her neck to the tips of her toes, and her hair was pulled back severely into a braid. Still, she was the most beautiful woman the curly-haired witch had ever seen.

“She certainly dresses discreetly,” observed Minerva. There was grudging approval in her tone.

Ginny scoffed quietly, “If that’s what you want to call it – I’d say she dresses horribly.”

_ That’s going to stop instantly.  _ “That’s enough, Gin. She didn’t ask to be part Veela. She hasn’t done anything to warrant your sniping.” The redhead had the decency to look ashamed.

“Poor girl, she probably knows she can’t win either way,” Molly remarked in a sad voice.

Just then Fleur turned her lovely face toward the group of women across the room from her. “Those men are your sons, Mrs. Weasley?” She called out loudly.

“Yes, dear. That’s Bill and Charlie. They’re on holiday and agreed to help me. It’s our family’s wedding gift, you see.” She had begun walking toward the chaperone, still standing at the last open door. “It’s hard to miss them with that hair, isn’t it!”

Hermione’s heart was filled with love for the older witch, who was clearly trying to be friendly to the breathtaking chaperone. She watched Molly lay a tentative hand on Fleur’s arm as they stood and talked quietly, both gazing out at something hidden from her. She turned to her other guests just as Trinket popped back into the room. “May Trinket clear the table, Lady?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you for the breakfast, Trinket. It was delicious.”

The little house elf beamed. “Thank you!” She continued to stand near Hermione, looking at her expectantly. Finally she ventured, “Does the Lady wish for her gifts to be brought here, or will she bring her guests to her room after the meal?”

_ Oh, that’s right – all those boxes from Lucius and Draco in the dressing room.  _ Hermione thought about the beautiful suite she’d barely had a chance to enjoy.  _ I’d rather not defile it with the conversations that will undoubtedly ensue. _ “Will you please bring them here?”

“Gladly, Lady!” She Disapparated with a crack that somehow sounded happy. 

Fleur was calling out again, this time to her. “Hermione, Molly says it’s safe to leave you in the company of Minerva. Is this so?” She seemed to be shaking her head slightly, as if hinting at the answer she desired.

_ Technically, yes. Although that all depends on what I’m to be kept safe from _ . “Yes. At least, the headmaster gave her chaperone rights at school.”

“We’ll just be a minute, dear! I just want to check on the boys and continue my conversation with this young lady. Come along, Fleur!” The chaperone sent a worried glance toward Hermione, who just smirked evilly.  _ Miss Bossypants has just met her superior. _

“Absolutely! Take your time – we’ll be fine!” She waved mockingly at the Frenchwoman, who was now being dragged helplessly across the flagged patio towards the labyrinth. 

With the clearing of the table, the drinks had disappeared, but Minerva had risen to the challenge. She seemed to have a nose specifically designed for sniffing down alcohol, because it took her all of five minutes to discover the sideboard located on the far side of the room. “Aha! Forget Mimosas – we can have anything we like! Lucius certainly stocks this well. Let’s see . . . how about . . . good heavens . . . is that hundred-year-old . . . it is!” She stood triumphantly holding an ornate bottle of what could only be firewhiskey.

_ And here we go _ . “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that, Minerva?”

“Nonsense! We just need a little coffee to add to it, that’s all. Summon that excellent elf of yours, Hermione! This is just begging to be opened.”

“Errrrr . . . why not?” She shrugged.  _ I did say I’d need more alcohol to make it through this. Sweet Circe protect our livers. _ “Trinket?”

Crack! “Yes, Lady?” She looked pleased to have been summoned.

“May we please have some coffee, if it isn’t too much trouble?”

Trinket clasped her hands together ecstatically. “Nothing is too much trouble for you! Coffee coming up right away!” She Disapparated and shortly after that, a tray appeared on the low table between the couches. On it were a carafe, small mugs, a bowl of sugar, and a plate of cookies.

Minerva set to work at once, and within minutes Hermione found herself curled up on a couch between Harry’s girls, sipping a surprisingly good Irish coffee. The taste of the alcohol seemed so marginal that she abandoned her former fears. Molly and Fleur returned, and something had shifted between the two. Fleur seemed relaxed, and she wore a small smile on her face. Molly looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. Talk was minimal until the first cups had been emptied, at which point boxes began to be shoved at the curly-haired witch.

Ginny was the fastest. Her package was big and wrapped in hot pink paper and bow. She was clapping her hands excitedly. “This is from all three of us, although Luna has one of her own to give as well. Oh, hurry up and open it!”

Hermione tore off the paper and opened the box with the same amount of caution one might use if there were a danger of poisonous snakes lurking within. At first glance, there was only an incredible amount of tissue. Digging through it revealed several handfuls of knickers, which made the ones her mother had given her seem quite modest. She looked up at her best friend with a relieved grin.  _ That coffee takes the edge off, that’s for sure. And thank goodness it’s only underwear. _ “Naughty knickers! Thanks, Gin. You’re the best.”

Ginny squealed. “There’s more! When Harry realized what I was looking for, he took me to the most incredible shop in Highgate! He offered to pay for whatever I wanted, just so long as he didn’t have to pick out your knickers, so I went a bit crazy. Lucky you!”

Hermione found the ‘more’, and she didn’t take any of it out the box. She looked up blankly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are these . . .?”  _ How am I supposed to know what to do with these? _

“Sex toys! I bought some of my own and already tried them out – magic doesn’t seem to interfere with the ones that need those badder-things!”

“Batteries,” corrected Hermione automatically, still gaping in shock at the arsenal of pleasure-related objects Ginny had given her.  _ Harry bought his ‘sister’ sex toys. I wonder if he knows. _ “Errrrr, thank you.” She set the box down at her feet hastily, but not before closing it completely.

Thankfully, Minerva distracted the others before they could demand to see the rest of Ginny’s gift. “My turn,” she sang out gleefully. “But first, another round of coffee. Come on, girls – mugs out!” When the last cup had been refilled, the professor held out a small gift to the curly-haired witch. “This is from both Albus and me.”

Hermione was filled with a sense of foreboding for a few seconds, until she realized what was in the box. “Oh, it’s jewelry – they’re lovely. Thank you, Minerva!” Indeed, they were tastefully eye-catching. The exquisite chandelier earrings looked like they were made of platinum and set with flashing emeralds and diamonds. Oddly, they had no posts or clips – just small flexible loops at the top. “Ummm, how do they . . .”

“Just ask Lucius – I’m sure he can figure them out. If his hands are half as clever as they look . . .” Minerva trailed off with a heated look in her eye. She roused herself and said briskly. “Who’s going next?”

Molly leaned forward to get a closer look. “Aren’t those-“ she was cut off by the professor.

“Let her enjoy her  _ earrings _ , Molly.” The two older witches exchanged odd looks, and Hermione decided not to pursue that conversation. She set the jewelry box aside and gulped down the rest of the yummy coffee in her mug. Minerva noticed right away. “More Irish coffee for the guest of honor! Who else needs a top-up?”

Hermione’s toes were numb, and she felt more at ease than she had in quite a while.  _ I can’t believe Draco kept me away from this stuff. I love firewhiskey! _ Out loud she said, “Fleur, what’s got you staring out the windows? You’ve been doing it off and on since you sat down.”

The chaperone, whose cheeks were flushed a pretty shade of pink, said quickly, “I’m only watching to make sure Molly’s boys don’t stray too close to the house.” She seemed in a hurry to change the subject, because she added, “I’ve never had coffee like this before. It’s very good.”

Minerva actually smiled at Fleur. “Have another mug, my dear.”

Molly’s attention was also divided between the party and something outside when she asked, “All right, who’s giving the next gift?”

Hermione voted for one of the beautifully wrapped boxes from her wizards, choosing one of the larger ones. When the silver ribbon and green wrappings fell away she rooted through the multiple layers of tissue and finally pulled out a pale violet gown made of delicate silk organdy. She stood up, holding it with reverent fingers, and listening to the faint whisper of the fine fabric.

The room was silent as Hermione held the garment against her body, running one hand gently down the simple bodice to the full, floor-length skirt. In a fit of whimsy she spun in a small circle, watching as the dress shone and hung in the air like gossamer. It was Ginny who spoke first. “Merlin’s left nut – that’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

Her expletive caused Hermione to snort with loud laughter, and the spell was broken. Molly scolded her daughter half-heartedly for her language even as she laughed, Minerva surreptitiously refilled all the mugs, and Fleur helped Hermione to pack the gown back into its box.

The next mug of spiked coffee went down even faster, and Hermione was starting to find humor in everything. The same was true of Ginny and Fleur, although Luna and Astoria seemed to have more of a tolerance for the drink.

Luna’s gift was both disturbing and confusing, even when she explained it patiently to Hermione. It consisted of two galleon-sized convex circles of silk (with what appeared to be adhesive on their concave sides) and a pair of black patent leather knickers that were missing an integral portion. The curly-haired witch looked at her sweet friend for clarification while alarm bells went off in her mind. “Are these . . .?”

Yes, to keep thrushmunchers away!” Luna smiled serenely. “You should always cover your nipples during the new moon.”

Hermione held up the crotchless knickers and giggled. “But it’s okay for the thrushmunchers to get at my . . .?” She waited patiently for what would undoubtedly be an even more ridiculous answer.  _ Thank Merlin Draco left when he did. _

Luna scoffed. “Don’t be silly, ‘Mione! Those are  _ very _ good for your pussy – they let air circulate constantly.  _ Harry _ approves of them,” she added, as if her fiancé’s endorsement of the garment carried extra weight.

“Of course he does, Lu! They allow instant access to your . . .  _ pussy _ . I’m sure the pasties only add to the appeal.”

Fleur gave a burble of silvery laughter. “Hermione said ‘pussy’!”

Ginny snorted indelicately. “Say it again, ‘Mione!”

Hermione blinked slowly. She was having trouble tracking objects with both eyes. “It again. I think I might be drunk.” 

There was a small chorus of laughter, and Fleur slid off the couch onto the floor in a graceful heap. “I might be as well,” She said owlishly, before she burst out giggling again.

Minerva guffawed. “ _ Now _ we can have fun.”

Astoria insisted that she give her present next, and for some reason, the boxed set of wandless vibrator and anal plug seemed hilarious to Hermione. She wouldn’t have had any idea at all what it was, but her friend had immediately told her. She laughed uproariously. “A butt plug! Thank you, Tory! It’s the best present so far! I can’t wait to show Draco!”

That set off another round of twitters, and most of them laughed so hard they were crying by the time they settled down. Molly sighed, wiping the streams of tears from her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart. You might want to keep that one wrapped up until after the wedding.” She looked as though she was having a difficult time controlling her laughter. “You know.”

Hermione giggled again. “No, I’m fairly certain I don’t  _ know _ .”

Fleur attempted to sit up straight from her spot on the floor. She raised one finger in the air and said, “Wait – I know this one! It’s  _ the _ unbreakable courtship rule!” She continued in a silly voice, “No penetration of any kind before the wedding ceremony,” and then collapsed in a snickering heap.

“Wait – what? Doesn’t oral sex count as penetration? I mean, there’s an object, an orifice . . .” She looked around the room dizzily.

Astoria sighed and flopped back dramatically on the couch. It seemed that the firewhiskey was catching up with her, as well. “Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “That you can do. And you can have as maaaaaany orgasms as you want. And you can be pierced, and tattooed, and bound, and OH! Wand play! You can engage in wand play, Hermione!”

Hermione curled up against Luna. “What’s wand play?” She asked no one in particular.

“It’s something you should really learn with your wizards.” said Molly mysteriously, “Ask Lucius and Draco about it sometime.” 

“Okay, well . . . “ she tried to think of another question. “What about my rune ceremony tonight – what should I expect?”  _ That was a lot easier to ask than I was expecting. Thank goodness for firewhiskey. _

Astoria made a purring sound. “Mine involved a standing stockade and a cat o’nine tails. I had my first forced orgasm, Hermione!” She moved her hand to her stomach, playing with her chain through the fabric of her dress, and gave a low moan. “I can’t wait to get back to my wizards.”

Hermione blinked several times, attempting to ingest that information. Once again, Minerva came to her rescue. “Every rune ceremony is different.”

Molly had a sentimental look in her eyes as she said, “Mine was very traditional. I wore the customary white robes, and I chose to let the Weasley wizards see all of me during the ritual. I was laid out on a raised bed, and they marked my left breast.” She nodded to Minerva who had made an approving sound. “As I said, very traditional.”

“So nothing kinky?”  _ Tonight I’m going to be alone with both of them.  _ A shiver – whether of nerves or desire, she couldn’t discern – ran along her spine.  _ I’ve dreamed about it countless times since accepting the stake, and it felt natural and right. _

“Oh, sweetheart – there’s nothing kinky about doing what you like with the men you love! I might not have been bound and whipped, but we certainly had fun! That was the night I was introduced to wand play.” She smiled with satisfaction. “I’m going to have to make Arthur something special for dinner tonight. He’s going to need some extra energy.”

Hermione realized she’d lost Molly to her fantasies and turned to Minerva. “Tell me what a traditional ceremony involves, please.”

The professor’s answer was succinct. “Tonight you bathe and strip, put on a ceremonial robe, meet your wizards at the appointed spot, and let them place their family rune on your skin. You may choose to take the robe off or leave it on. I suggest the former. More coffee?”

_ One of these might be nice before the ceremony.  _ “Maybe just one more. Easy on the whiskey. Anyone else?”

  
  
  



	53. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dodgy internet today.

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday

By the time Draco arrived at the official end of the party, Molly had wandered off to dirty-Floo Arthur, Minerva had returned to Hogwarts, and the rest of Hermione’s guests had all curled up for alcohol-induced naps. Ginny and Luna were wrapped in each other’s arms, lying on the couch across from her, and Fleur was under the low table between them. Only Astoria’s feet could be seen from where she lay beside the far couch. Hermione sprang to her feet at his approach, swaying dangerously. “Oops,” she giggled when he caught her in his arms, “The room tipped just then. Did you feel it?”

Draco sat down on the nearest couch with Hermione on his lap. “What happened to your friends?”

She crooked a finger, beckoning him closer until she was speaking against his lips. “Firewhiskey happened to them, Draco!” Her giggling must have been infectious, because he started chuckling along with her.

“Are you drunk, little witch?” He gave her a frustratingly chaste kiss.

“Oh, no, no, no!” She wriggled out of his arms and reseated herself to her own specifications – straddling his lap, dress hitched up to her thighs, and arms wrapped around his neck. “Well, yes. Technically I’m drunk. But it’s wonderful, Draco! I feel completely un- . . . un- . . . un-in- _ hib _ ited, like we could talk about anything right now and I wouldn’t even blush.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes.

The blond wizard appeared to be at war with himself, but his hands were pulling her hips to his, and he was sliding sideways along the couch cushions until they were as far as possible from the dozing witches across the seating area. “What do you want to talk about?”

She leaned forward and kissed him –  _ really _ kissed him – until he groaned into her mouth and gripped her backside with his large hands. Hermione felt his body respond at once, and she pulled away triumphantly. “You truly want me, don’t you?” She rocked her hips against his experimentally.

Draco’s eyes were glazing over rapidly. Hermione heard his breathing become slightly louder. She feigned a kiss and licked his bottom lip. “Do you want me, Draco?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “More than anything, but I won’t take advantage of you. You’ve had too much to drink, sweetheart.”

She pouted. “How can you take advantage of someone you’re almost married to? Besides, you could just as easily say  _ I’m _ taking advantage of  _ you _ .” Another almost-kiss, but this one resulted in her catching his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling gently. She let it go and murmured, “Will you let me take advantage of you, silly snake?”

Draco cast a cautious glance at the sleeping guests. “You need to be quiet, little witch.” He let go of her bum with one hand and grabbed her around the neck, kissing her roughly. Hermione moaned and inched until she had aligned her bare seam over his trouser-covered erection. 

When their mouths parted for want of air, she put her lips to his ear and began grinding against him. “Circe, that feels so good. We’re going to have so much fun with the presents I got today, Draco. Ask me about them!”

Draco seemed to be having difficulty forming words. He was watching her with wild eyes and helping to move her body against his own. “Nngh. Nngh.”

_ Close enough _ . She continued to whisper in his ear. “I got naughty knickers, Draco. Would you like me to model them for you later? I’d do that for you. Oh! And sex toys – lots and lots of sex toys. Only we can’t use most of them yet because of the courtship rules.” She pulled away slightly and pouted at him. “No penetration!”

Draco nodded frantically as they moved together. He gasped out quietly, “Rule . . . number . . . one.”

She continued, “But oral sex doesn’t count as penetration, so we can start practicing that right away. Would you like that, Draco?”

His eyes almost crossed, and he gulped noisily. “Yeeeesss,” he groaned.

Hermione had a flashback to their earlier conversation and smiled wickedly, biting her lip. “Pay attention.” Her fingers moved to the buttons of her sundress and slowly began opening them. Draco’s eyes widened, and for one brief second he looked away to check up on the others in the room. Then he was focused on her hands again, watching her breasts peek into view.

“Hermione,” he whispered hoarsely, “please don’t stop. Please let me see you.” He took one hand from her hips and reached up to slide down the straps of her dress, pulling away the fabric that clung to her small, round breasts, and still he was able to keep his relentless pace in grinding them together.  _ That’s how much bigger he is than me – he can manhandle me with one hand tied behind his back. Or attached to my breast. _ _ He’s such a superior wizard. _

She shivered with desire, feeling her body begin to pulse with that aching need. He was watching her breasts bounce as she moved against him, his lips parted slightly. Hermione tugged him forward by his hair, saying almost soundlessly, “Put your mouth on me.”

He didn’t hesitate, but latched on to her nipple with a greedy sound. The fingers of his free hand stroked down her neck, over her chest, and toyed with her other erect peak. Hermione bucked against him in pleasure, forgetting to be quiet, but Draco pulled away immediately and stilled their hips. He looked at her in alarm. “Be quiet or we’ll have to stop.”

She nodded frantically. “I’m so close, Draco. Please keep moving.” The coil within her nether regions had reached the point of no return, and the pleasure was bordering on pain. Just when she thought she might die from need, arched against her wizard with her breasts pointing at his face, he leaned to take one in his mouth, nibbling it with his lips as he rolled and tugged the other one with his clever fingers. Hermione’s orgasm crashed over her forcefully, and Draco followed seconds later.

They remained in their tight embrace for a minute or two after that, until Hermione giggled softly against Draco’s neck. “What’s so funny?” He sounded groggy.

She sat up in his lap, pressing her nose and forehead to his.  _ He looks funny this close up.  _ “Well, I cannot believe you thought I shouldn’t drink firewhiskey.”

“I stand corrected.” His hands came up and fondled her breasts, cupping their round weight in his large palms. He pushed them together slightly and leaned down to kiss the resulting cleavage. Looking up at her he added with a smirk, “Although I think you might have regretted going this far at the Slytherin party.”

Hermione hummed with contentment. “You’re right. Want to button me back up, or shall I?”

“Allow me the honor, Miss Granger.” His eyes twinkled dangerously at her, and she swooned. His fingers managed to touch more skin than anything else, but finally her dress was put to rights.

“I want you, Draco Hyperion Malfoy.” She giggled yet again, nibbling at his handsome jaw. “That’s such a funny middle name, don’t you think?” Her hands ran down his chest and stomach, gently stroking his softening penis through his trousers. He gasped, and she continued in a reflective tone, “Hyperion was a Titan. He fathered Helios, Selene, and Eos.  _ Merlin _ , I want to have sex with you. Just think – you and I are going to conceive the sun, the moon, and the dawn!” Hermione felt a change within her grip as Draco’s erection returned. 

She looked at him in tipsy awe, but Draco was removing her hand gently but firmly. “That was inevitable, but we’re going to stop now.” He placed a sweet kiss on her cheek and moved her outward on his lap, away from the tent in his trousers.

“Oh,” she looked at him in confusion and then said brightly, “It’s my turn to do the next part!” She pulled her wand out of the side pocket of her dress and aimed a cleaning spell at his pants and her dress. “Much better.” She yawned, protesting when he slid her off his lap and settled her back on the couch. “What are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?”

He chuckled. “Leaving you here for a bit. Lie down like a good little witch.”

“Hmmmm. I like it when you’re bossy, Draco. It’s nice not to be the one in charge sometimes.” Her brain finally processed his words. She whined, “Why are you leaving?”

“Because I already want to do that again, and, unfortunately, you’re already falling asleep.” He kissed her forehead and gave her a blissful half-smile. “I’m going to have Trinket check on you girls in a bit, and I’ll come back in an hour or so.” He paused, smoothing her dress down over her legs. “That was completely worth braving the company of two Ravenclaws.”

She smiled even as her eyelids began to droop. “See you in an hour. “

As she drifted off into a light sleep, she was sure she heard Ginny remark, “Now  _ that _ was hot.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

Hermione woke to find herself cotton-headed, cotton-mouthed, and alone in the main seating area of the Morning Room. Eventually she became aware of the sound of a nearby conversation. Somewhere the girls were talking, and the sound floated through the air like distant music. She found them at the breakfast table, eating from a lunch tray heaped with tempting food and several bottles of what could only be Sober-Up Potion. Astoria and Luna were hunched over a magazine or catalogue, talking in excited tones, while Ginny appeared to be trying to engage a distracted Fleur in conversation. It didn’t appear to be going very well. Hermione drew up a chair beside her chaperone and began filling a plate. She tipped a few drops of the potion into her water goblet.

“What will you do after the wedding?” Ginny was trying very hard to be friendly, and her obvious effort was commendable.

Fleur sighed softly. Her hair had worked its way out of its braid during her nap and hung in a golden tousled glory over her shoulders. “I would like to return to my cursebreaking work. Now that I’ll have the Malfoy’s referral, I might finally stand a chance of being hired by Gringotts.”

“My oldest brother Bill works there – and as a cursebreaker, no less! Now that you’ve met, I’m sure he’ll put in a good word for you. You  _ did _ meet, right? When you left with my mum toward the end of the party?” Ginny’s innocent look would have been convincing to anyone except those who knew her well.  _ What is she playing at? _

That caught Fleur’s complete attention, and as she whipped her head to look at Ginny, her cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Which one was Bill?”

“The tall handsome one with the shaggy hair and the air of danger and mystery.” Ginny looked as though she was trying to hold back the evil smirk on her face. “The fit handsome one that oozed confident charm was Charlie.”

Fleur seemed to get lost in her thoughts again, so the redhead turned to Hermione with the same devilish look. “That nap did wonders for you, ‘Mione. You’re positively glowing!”

Suddenly Hermione was reminded of the comment she’d heard as she drifted off to sleep.  _ She was watching Draco and me!  _ The curly-haired witch blushed and narrowed her eyes in warning, but couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “It was a very good nap.”

Ginny indicated the oblivious chaperone with a nod of her head to Hermione. “I think I’ll just go check on Mum. I thought I heard her shouting outside just now.” Her eyes were gleaming wickedly, and Hermione shook her head in amusement.  _ She’s going to hunt down the boys and ask them about Fleur, I’ll bet. _

“Sounds good.” She swiveled in her chair toward the other two witches, and then swiveled it around again almost immediately.  _ Circe riding Merlin’s broom – is that . . . _ She shrieked, “What on earth are you two looking at?!”  _ Magical moving photographs make that stuff even worse! _

Luna looked up with her usual sunny, slightly bewildered expression. “Hi, ‘Mione! Tory brought the latest issue of  _ Incarcerous _ ! We’re just finishing a pictorial article on-“

Luckily, her explanation was drowned out by several shouts from outside. All the witches except Hermione jumped up and ran to the French windows.  _ The last time I disobeyed the rules, I got bitten by a diseased bitch. _ She wandered back to the middle of the large room, where the as-yet unwrapped Malfoy gifts lay. It seemed rude to just leave them there, disregarded, and so she Summoned Trinket. “I’m terribly sorry to trouble you, Trinket, but-“

The house elf waved her hands and shook her head sternly. “The Masters warned about this. This is Trinket’s House, and she alone will care for it.” It almost looked as though she was narrowing her eyes at Hermione. She added begrudgingly, “And Bowly helps – but only outside and with the books!”

_ She’s a bit like Molly _ . “Errrrr, would you please put all the gifts in my rooms?”

“With pleasure! Remember, you will be Mistress soon. And Mistress does  _ not _ worry about the running of this House.” She nodded meaningfully at Hermione.

“Got it. You’re the boss, and there’s nothing you can’t do. Thank you, Trinket.” As the little elf Disapparated with her typically cheerful crack, it occurred to Hermione that her S.P.E.W. campaign would have offended Trinket mortally.

The witches who had remained inside were now joined by Molly, Ginny, and Draco. Her wizard immediately made his way to her side, whispering in her ear, “When can we leave for the library?”

Hermione didn’t answer. She was watching Molly, Ginny, and Fleur. The older witch was clearly excited about something and whispering to Fleur and Ginny. Ginny wore a curious expression. Fleur, though – Fleur was in a reverent daze, eyes unseeing, lips parted, hands splayed in the air at her sides. She looked as though she were having a mystical experience.  _ Something happened out there. _ Another quick glance at those three confirmed Hermione’s decision to ask Fleur about it in private.

Molly took care of this herself. She put her arms around the shoulders of Harry’s girls, saying, “It’s time for me to get back to work! The boys had to run an errand, so I’m going to steal Ginny and Luna to help in their place. No, no – no complaining, Ginevra! Astoria, I know the Notts have a different interpretation of the courtship rules, and so I’ll leave you to hunt down that chaperone of yours.” The motherly witch walked to where Hermione stood with Draco. “Come here, sweetheart.” She wrapped her in a wonderful, bone-crunching hug. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure. Have a good afternoon.” Then she was dragging the two protesting girls out the French windows, shutting them behind her.

Astoria stretched, closed her magazine, and stood. “Congratulations again, Hermione! It’s probably time for me to go as well. My chaperone avoids sunlight at all costs, so he’s quite easy to find – he’s always lurking in the potions lab.” She hugged her friend and continued in a hushed voice, “I’m not supposed to know about it, but my shower is tomorrow and your invitation is probably already on its way here.” At Hermione’s alarmed expression she added, “Don’t worry, Minerva isn’t able to attend mine. It will be a comparatively tame party.” With that, she floated across the Morning Room and out the door.

The curly-haired witch turned to her chaperone immediately. “All right, Fleur – spill. What just happened outside?” 

The lovely blonde witch broke into her first truly happy smile since meeting her charge. She said unsteadily, “I . . . they . . . and then . . .”

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. “Absolutely not. Take a deep breath, start at the beginning and go slow. Don’t leave anything out.”

Fleur closed her eyes and did as she was told. “I met Bill and Charlie Weasley with Molly earlier this morning, and they were very . . .”

“Seeing as it was Bill and Charlie, let me guess – charming? Intriguing?” Hermione supplied with an amused eye-roll.  _ Those two are incorrigible. _

Fleur nodded, adding eagerly, “They didn’t seem to be influenced by my Veela blood at all. They liked  _ me _ .” She blushed. “I liked them, too.”

“Sounds like those two. They’re great guys – I’ve always thought of them as big brothers.”  _ Obviously that’s not what you’re thinking. _

“Just now, Molly told me that they’d left to round up three more brothers.”

“That’s right – Percy, Fred, and George.” Perhaps the vestigial alcohol in her system was slowing down her thought processes, or maybe it was the combination of the nap and the rich lunch. Whatever the reason, Hermione was having a difficult time predicting where the conversation was heading.

Fleur smiled again, flashing perfect white teeth. “She said they’d all be going straight to the Ministry.”

_ All the Weasley boys gathering to go straight to the Ministry. OH.  _ “You don’t mean . . .?”

The chaperone’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, and her smile was impossibly wider and brighter. “It  _ happened _ . Hermione, I’m  _ Bespoken _ . Today the House of Weasley will cast stakes for  _ me _ .”


	54. Wednesday Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

  
  


Wednesday Afternoon

Hermione retained her clarity of purpose in the library, much to Draco’s dismay. In fact, she didn’t even want a full tour of it until she’d done as much research as she possibly could in the relatively few hours they had. “We’ll use that as a reward when I’m done!” She’d said brightly when he had offered.

Draco had given her a smile that bordered on a grimace. “That sounds like a very Gryffindor idea.” Still, he’d led the witches to the back of the archive’s ground floor, to a place obviously designed for research. Then he’d Summoned Bowly and requested any work related to Hermione’s search parameters to be brought to their station. Books began appearing right away, neatly stacked on the table before them.

Fleur daydreamed at a nearby table for a while before wandering off with a distracted, “Just stay in the library, you two.”

Hermione raised her head and stared after the retreating blonde in shock. “Did she just say what I thought she did?” She thought for a moment. “Who would have thought meeting Bill and Charlie Weasley would do that to anyone?”  _ Why am I questioning it? Go with it! _

Draco looked up hopefully. “How do you feel about that tour  _ now _ ?”

She swatted his arm, laughing. “Help me or go away.” When he leaned toward her with obvious intention, she pushed her palm against his forehead. “No.”

He sighed good-naturedly. “Where do you want to start? Traditions, history, law, or personal account?”

“There are personal accounts?” Hermione was instantly intrigued.

“Of course – many Malfoy house wives left their diaries and journals to the library. Some are probably too old to be of any use, but-“

“I want to read them all! Make a pile on that far table,” she ordered, feeling the familiar thrill of research run through her entire being.  _ So much to read, and so little time!  _ “I’ll start with the larger works, and take the diaries with me to my room if I don’t get to them this afternoon.”

Draco complied with twinkling eyes and an almost-smile. “What next?”

“How about law and tradition? I’m curious how these marriages are governed, and we can follow the ensuing development and change in traditions. I don’t suppose there’s any pertinent historical works?” 

Her wizard pushed a heavy tome toward her and sat down at her side. “Have at it. I’ll start with this one and mark the spots about house wives.”

The two lapsed into silence, and Hermione used a complex search charm to seek out any laws pertaining to house wives. In a relatively short amount of time, she had a rough list. She was amazed at how far the wizarding world had come, despite its archaic tendencies.

‘A house wife shall be fed and clothed by her husbands’ seemed to be the earliest enacted law to protect witches against poor treatment. The same section listed the basic rights of a house wife: food, shelter, clothing, and a wand. Education, furtherance of personal success, and ownership of property were not mentioned, and as Hermione read in a later chapter, a witch’s wand could be confiscated or even snapped by her husbands for ‘unseemly behavior’. Cross-research in a book of history confirmed that witches were dominated by their husbands and had to obey them, but were treated well and with courtesy. Treatment seemed to be based on their social rank.

“I always want for the wizarding world to be advanced, but it wasn’t – still isn’t!” she remarked aloud. At Draco’s questioning look, she explained what she’d read.

“The wizarding world is ancient, sweetheart. Thousands of years ago, no matter how powerful her magic was a witch was considered property. Most ancient families interpreted this in a good way – their house wives were their prized possessions, worthy of a House’s absolute love and protection. There were some, though, that needed to be held in check by laws.” He added, “I understand it was much the same with Muggles.”

“I can’t even wrap my mind around that notion,” she huffed. “I’m not some  _ thing _ to be acquired and treated as a pet, or a piece of art! I belong to no one!”

“Of course not, but you don’t seem to mind Lucius’ pet names for you,” he smiled with one eyebrow arched meaningfully.

“They’re . . .” she thought of the sweet sobriquets he had for her –  _ pet, my prize, my lovely _ . “That’s not what he means at all! He’s being affectionate in a rather old-fashioned way, that’s all.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “ _ Exactly _ . But they’ve been around for a long time – as long as those ancient perceptions of witches and house wives. As we’ve advanced, we’ve eliminated the need for such laws. Don’t let that thought ruin your enjoyment of Lucius’ names for you.”

“I like your names for me just as much.”  _ Just thinking about you calling me by one of them in that voice of yours . . . _

His brow furrowed. “I don’t have any nicknames for you.”

“Little witch? Sweetheart?” She smiled shyly at Draco. “I like them just as much as his.”

“I guess I do call you those, and I’ll remember that.” He steered them back toward their previous topic. “The vestiges of the old ways are all around us, though.” At a glance toward her inquiring expression he added with a blush, “The traditions. But let’s finish up with the laws, first.” 

_ I wonder what has him embarrassed.  _ Hermione pulled another old law tome across the desk, running her fingers over the soft, aged leather. It would have been easier to Summon it, but she liked touching her reading material as much as possible – it was half the experience, really. This particular book was a later edition by at least five hundred years, and the section governing house wives reflected that. ‘A house wife shall have the right to inherit and own property, including house elves’.  _ That’s a bit better. Minus the whole ownership of another sentient life form. _ She continued reading. ‘The wand of a house wife cannot be confiscated or broken by her husbands.’ “Draco, why didn’t Professor Bins cover any of this in History of Magic?”

“He didn’t cover a lot of law anyway, but these are particular to the marriages of Pureblood Houses, of which there are only twenty-eight in England. Most countries have even less. That’s rather a special interest topic.”

“Do you  _ know _ all these laws?”

“There aren’t that many. I had a tutor before I went to Hogwarts, and this was the sort of thing I learned from him – all the Pureblood-specific laws and traditions. The most recent one was made less than fifty years ago.”

“What was it?” She shuffled through the piles on the table, trying to locate a newer looking book of wizarding law. Giving up finally, she looked at Draco impatiently. “Well?”

“It gave a house wife the right to pursue occupation and a career as long as it wasn’t detrimental to her House.”

She pinned him with her gaze, her brain whirring busily. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

“When it was created, it meant that neither job nor career could interfere with her House duties, including child-bearing. The House always comes first.” 

“I will  _ not _ be a baby machine!” 

“Of course not, but the future of a pureblood House depends on its house wife. When she agrees to bind with the wizards of an ancient family, she’s promising to bear their sons and daughters.”

“How many children is she expected to bear? Because I don’t relish the idea of being pregnant for the rest of my life!”

“I agree with you – house wives aren’t baby machines. Just look at our own House – one extreme example is Calpurnia, who bore only Lucius.” Draco added in a thoughtful tone, “You know, the Malfoy wizards are held to the same standard – we must put the good of the family ahead of all else. There’s no double standard there.”

“Just so we’re clear – I will not be the next Molly Weasley.”

He laughed, comprehension dawning across his face. “We definitely don’t need to have six sons. A few would be nice, though.”

_ I’d like to have a family with you and Lucius.  _ “More than one, for sure. I never liked being an only child.” She shook herself out of her reverie. “Alright, so I am legally afforded the right to pursue a career and do things other than churn out little Malfoys. I want to move on to tradition.”

That turned out to be more of a rabbit chase. The traditions of house wives were woven in to every other aspect of the wizarding world, and Hermione was, quite simply put, overwhelmed. Draco tried to give her a brief overview. “The laws were put in place to control the actions of baser individuals, but the traditions of the Pureblood families are what actually govern us. We’re taught them from the time we learn to understand speech. They’re heavy on ritual and influenced by the covenants. They were begun in the dawn of time and will continue until its end.”

_ I cannot believe I let these wizards distract me from studying. Studying! Now I’m so far behind it’s ridiculous.  _ “In that case, I’m overwhelmed – I don’t even know where to start. In the interests of time, I’d like a brief overview of what I need to know for the next two days. Then I’ll make a reading list and plot out a course of study. If the rest of these books are about Pureblood traditions,” here she indicated the remaining towers of tomes and parchments on the table, “I’ll need at least a few months to thoroughly research them. And that’s not even including the diaries!” 

She glanced at the piles of small leather-bound books on the next table longingly.  _ The spontaneously recorded words of my predecessors.  _ Something told her that they had been waiting in the library just for her. At that thought, deep in the recesses of her awareness, the covenant purred. She turned her inner dialogue in its direction with a quick but reverent thought.  _ You were with every Malfoy wife, and now you’re with me. I’ll follow your guidance; I promise. _

Hermione glanced at the nearest clock. She wondered when Lucius would be done with his Paris meetings. A nervous feeling about the upcoming ritual was beginning to flutter in her stomach, and she firmly disregarded it.  _ Worrying can’t help, but knowledge can.  _ “Can you do that, please? Walk me through the next two days as you understand the traditions involved?” 

Draco seemed to have picked up on her nervousness, because he stretched out a hand and closed it around one of hers. His thumb rubbed a soft, comforting pattern into her skin. “Of course, although you’ll be getting the wizard’s version. I don’t know how different it will be. Let’s back up a bit. What do you know about stake casting?”

Hermione felt her body respond to Draco’s innocent touch as though he were doing something far more sensual. Struggling to concentrate, she pulled up a mental list of what she’d learned in the past two weeks. “Ummm, a wizard must be eighteen to cast one, and a witch must be sixteen to accept. The stake must be cast unanimously to achieve precedence in the event that more than one family casts. The witch has the right to accept or decline it, and if there are more than four wizards she chooses the two or three whom she will marry. The remaining wizards begin the search for a Bespoke Witch all over again. Oh, yes,” she narrowed her eyes at Draco, “the wizards may watch their Bespoke Witch being offered their stake, but they must remain unseen and unheard. Is there anything else?”

He had the grace to blush. “Only that the witch doesn’t have to accept right away.” The blond wizard chuckled softly, reaching out to run his fingers along her bare arm. “You have no idea what you did to me and Lucius that day, when you just took it from Dumbledore.”

She shivered at his touch. “I didn’t know any better! Although knowing what I do now, and feeling how I do, I’m glad I did it that way. No hesitation, no extra time in which to second-guess my decision. It’s the most ignorant, impulsive thing I’ve ever done, and also the best.”

He leaned down as if to kiss her and stopped with a grimace of apology. “Sorry, I’ll be good.” He looked away and cleared his throat. “Let’s see, next is the part between when the stake is offered and accepted. It’s called the consideration, usually.”

“Does it have rules like the courtship?” She thought about what Astoria had told her about that time, when the Notts had pursued her with flirting and letters.  _ It sounds a bit like dating, really. _

“Just one, but the consideration rule is immutable. There is no physical contact beyond holding hands. Breach of that is grounds for dissolution of the stake.”

_ So, not like dating.  _ “But it’s not an actual law.” Hermione was a bit confused.

“In Pureblood society, traditions hold far more power than the ordinances of any government, regardless of where you may be in the world. The Wizengamot even recognizes their weight. Shall we continue?” At her nod, he went on. “When the Bespoke Witch accepts the stake from the patriarch of her family, she sets into motion preparation for the binding ceremony, also called the ceremony of acceptance. It’s usually held as soon as a Ministry official can be procured, although in our case we wanted to give you time to reconsider your decision.”

“You would have let me get away?” The thought of being without either of the Malfoy wizards caused her heart to clench briefly in almost physical pain.

He treated her to one of his best almost-smiles. “We would never have tricked you into a marriage you didn’t choose for yourself. If you’d run screaming from the Headmaster’s office that day, we’d have switched to plan B.”

“The job offers from the various Malfoy companies.”

“Precisely. We would have met eventually, gotten to know each other, toured the library, and fallen in love. You would have been our wife either way.”

_ I’m going to marry you and then we’re going to christen this library couch by couch.  _ “You’re awfully cocky, Mr. Malfoy.”

He smirked and shifted his chair even closer to hers so that their knees almost touched. “You’re  _ marrying _ ‘awfully cocky Mr. Malfoy’. You  _ like _ it.”

“You know I do.” She blushed and dropped her eyes, smiling to herself happily. Draco moved their clasped hands from the arm of the chair to her thigh. His thumb began moving against her leg now, causing goosebumps to break out over her exposed skin.  _ I want you. _ Again Hermione shook her head to clear it of the quickly gathering fog of lust. “Okay, we’ve run through the stake casting, the acceptance, and I’ve actually  _ been _ to a binding myself, so tell me about the rune marking ritual. Why’s it usually held right after the binding?”

“Because once the Bespoke Witch bears the rune, no one can challenge the stake and its acceptance. You’ve been walking around with that pretty handmark and nothing else for a week and a half too long.” He seemed unable to stop himself from kissing her this time, and she melted into the sensation of his lips moving against hers. Hermione’s desire, which had been burning like a hot ember deep in her gut, burst into a tiny flame.

Eventually she came to her senses and pulled away, saying almost reluctantly, “We need to stay on track. Why a rune? Why not a ring, like every other culture?”

“It  _ was _ a ring for a long time. It still is, for some.”

“Why do I have to have a rune, then? Maybe I’d prefer a ring.”

Draco was plainly uncomfortable, and shifted in his chair again. “It’s not the kind of ring you’re thinking of. I mean to say it doesn’t go on your finger. Errrr, that is . . .”

“Mother of magic – Astoria’s piercings are actually traditional?” She blinked several times in surprise, testing out that information against her reaction. The image of those jeweled rings, gleaming silver against the pale pink tips of Astoria’s breasts, was mixing with the desire already within her.  _ I’m obviously not repulsed by the idea.  _

“Very, although as usual the Notts have put their own unique interpretation on it. They’re obviously ring wizards.”

_ Ring wizards? There’s a term?  _ “When did rings start to be replaced by runes?”

The subject seemed to be affecting Draco, because he was positively squirming in his chair. “The mark on the skin was favored by the ancient Norsemen who conquered the British Isles, and a few families who originated here kept the tradition alive.”

“Does that include the Malfoy family?”  _ I’ll bet not.  _ She hadn’t given any thought to her future surname until just now, but it had a slightly foreign flavor to it. 

“No, we’re Gallic – the family seat is in Aude. We spend summers there, usually.”

At her blank look, he added, “The southern region of Languedoc-Roussillon.”

“This might shock you, but I don’t know much about France beyond the obvious tourist spots.”

He thought for a moment. “It’s not far from the Cité de Carcassonne.”

Hermione brightened. “Now  _ that _ I know. We went on holiday there when I was young.” Like a dog with a bone, she returned to their former topic of conversation. “Is the rune visible? I mean, would I be able to see it?” She tried to imagine what it would look like to have such a permanent mark, and her hand rose to caress the skin along the low neckline of her sundress unconsciously.

Draco was watching the motion of her hand with a heavy-lidded stare, and his hand, still resting on her leg, released hers and wrapped around the top of her thigh. “Of course. So will we.”

“And traditionally it goes here, because it’s in place of the ring?” She stroked her fingers along the small swell of her breast, fascinated by the way his eyes tracked her hand’s movements.

The blond wizard reached toward her and ran one finger slightly lower than her own, curving it inward to the shallow valley between her breasts. “It can be anywhere on your body, but it would be lovely here.” His eyes were glued to his own hand now as it continued to stroke her breast.

“And you’d rather I have a rune? Is that a trend, or a personal preference . . . sorry, I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She dropped her fingers to play with the top button of her dress nervously, and his gaze followed. _ I wish he’d tell me what he’s thinking. _

He looked conflicted. Finally he said, “It wasn’t something Lucius and I felt we could bring up before now. Somehow, ‘Hermione, would you rather be branded or pierced?’ didn’t seem to fit in any of our conversations. We tried to think of it from your point of view and decided a rune might be more acceptable to a Muggle-born. Then as we got more comfortable with each other, we were talking or doing other things. I’m sorry for that.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for – you were trying to be sensitive and doing an excellent job of it. For heaven’s sake, Draco – do you remember how the two of us blushed at everything up to a few days ago? And Muggles aren’t as different as you think.” She noticed he was watching her finger fiddle the button in and out of its buttonhole and continued, “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

It was his turn to blush. “I just want to see you marked as a Malfoy once and forever.” He stole a quick kiss.

_ He’s dodging me. _ Hermione summoned up her courage and began slowly popping the buttons of her dress.  _ I did this earlier, but the memory’s a bit fuzzy. I know he liked it.  _ She slid the straps off her shoulders, baring herself to her wizard. “If it were up to you, which would you choose for me?”

Draco’s mouth dropped open and his eyes glazed over. He seemed to be having a hard time swallowing. In an action made bolder than she actually felt by the arousal coursing through her, the curly-haired witch raised a hand and smoothed it over the firm curves of her chest, tracing them slowly. “I just want to know, Draco: are you a rune wizard, or a ring wizard?”  _ Because I don’t think I’d mind either way if you’ll just keep looking at me like that. _

He slid out of his chair to kneel between her legs, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her to the edge of her chair. Her breasts were directly in front of his face now, and he lowered his mouth to cover them in soft, wet kisses. All the while, a hungry noise emanated from deep in his throat. Hermione pulled away, lifting his chin with one hand so that they looked at each other directly. “If it will help you be honest with me, I’ll pay you the same courtesy. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I liked the way Astoria’s looked. It was very . . . arousing.” She blushed deeply and looked away. “But I think I would have thought the same if she’d had a rune marking instead.” A fleeting, horrifying thought crossed her mind.  _ Sweet Circe, I’m turned on by looking at other girls’ breasts. _ The covenant stretched along the edge of her consciousness, both amused and disagreeing with her self-assessment. Its response relieved her immensely, and she turned away from her internal dialogue.

Draco fought against her hold on his face, eventually winning and returning to his ministrations. “Oh, no – your turn, Mr. Malfoy.” She pulled away again just before he made it to one of her nipples.  _ I’ll forget my own name if that happens. _ “Rune or ring?”

He looked positively anguished but finally murmured, “Ring.” Draco closed his eyes and dropped his head to her shoulder, speaking quietly into the skin of her neck. “I’ve known about this tradition my whole life, but it wasn’t until you entered the Yule Ball in that purple dress that I realized the implications of you wearing a Malfoy ring.” He ran his nose along her neck, inhaling as he went. “The thought of something like that hiding under your clothes for only me to see and touch . . .” he let go of her left side and raised his hand to her breast, rolling and tugging at its peak until she gasped. “It became a standard part of every fantasy from then on.”

Hermione’s finger threaded through Draco’s hair, unconsciously tugging at it.  _ That’s right – Draco’s been fantasizing about me for years _ . Despite the fact that she’d known this for a while now, the thought was heady. “And what about Lucius?”

He was pulling her down off her chair and onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. Without conscious thought she complied, drawing as close to him as possible. “He’s the most traditional Pureblood you’ll ever meet; a ring would definitely be his first choice. Must we talk any more?”

His words cut through the haze in her brain. She struggled against her body, which demanded that they continue, and it took several moments before it obeyed her. “We need to stop, Draco. There’s so much I need to know about the rune ceremony tonight.” Hermione paused. “Errrrr, is it even called a  _ rune ceremony _ if I choose a ring? Never mind. Stop!” Laughing, she struggled out of his arms and back into her chair. “Back to work.  _ Now _ .”

Draco scrubbed one hand over his face and followed her actions, first adjusting his tented trousers with a grimace. “Could we please move on to something else?”

“After you answer my question.” She looked at him expectantly as she worked her dress back up to its proper place and buttoned it closed.

He sighed, a disappointed expression on his handsome face. “Alright. It’s called a rune ceremony regardless, because the House rings are inscribed with the same runes used to mark the skin.” 

Her curiosity reared its head. “Can I see one?”

His mouth dropped open again. “Of course.” He sat there another few seconds, staring at her blankly before rousing from his stupor. “You need to choose your rune anyway. Come with me.”

Draco took her by the hand again and led her toward the wall, veering to follow it for a ways. They stopped before a large oil painting of an imperious-looking blond wizard, who was garbed in the fashion of a time long-past. He spoke to her wizard. “This is the one for whom you have waited?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied respectfully. With that, the painting swung forward from the wall and revealed a niche containing a small wooden chest. Draco picked it up, put the painting back in place, and motioned for her to follow him back the way they’d come.

“He wasn’t very chatty,” she remarked when they were back at their table spot.

Draco smirked. “That’s great-times-twelve grandfather Louis. He doesn’t talk to women.” Then he added hastily, “Don’t take it personally; it’s how things were done back then.”

Hermione waved it away, more interested in the chest than any perceived slight from her future family’s ancestor. “Open it!”

Draco waved his hand over the box and the top three drawers slid open with audible clicks. “These are the Malfoy rings. You’ll bear the rune of your own choosing.” Draco’s quiet tone was absolute, and left no room for argument. Even if it had, Hermione found none in her. He sounded very much like Lucius in that moment. “Or, rather, it will choose you.”

She wasn’t prepared for their beauty, nor the power they exuded from their velvet-lined beds, and didn’t catch that last thing Draco said. No two were alike in either way. Hermione hesitantly reached out a finger toward the first one in the top drawer. It was a small, ancient-looking ring of a dark metal with a mysterious rune affixed to its lower curve. She gasped when she felt the ring’s magic reach out and flow over her skin, much as her stake had.

“What does it feel like?” He moved to stand behind her, one arm wrapped just under her breasts.

She leaned back into him for a moment, craning her neck to look up at him. “Can’t you tell?”

“They only respond to Bespoken ones.” He was focused on her hand, where it hovered above the first drawer.

She ran her finger through the air just above the ring again. “It feels very old, and murky, and . . . weird.”

“Not the right one, then. Move on.” He was stroking her neck with one finger as he leaned over her shoulder, head close to hers.

The next ring was horrid, and the one after that was beautiful in all but its magic, which was oppressive. Carefully she went through the whole top drawer but each one felt slightly off.

Draco’s words came back to her, and she finally processed them. “It’s the rune I feel, isn’t it? I’m looking for the one that feels right.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Keep going.”

_ He likes this. A lot. _ Hermione closed the first drawer and turned her attention to the rings in the second. These were all silver, and several were similar to the ones she’d seen on Astoria. They were strung with jewels and runes that sparkled in the bright light of the library, and Hermione eagerly stretched a finger toward the first. The magic that curled up her finger was light-hearted and happy, but almost vacuous. Several rings later, she began to grow worried. “Draco, what if I don’t find one? Has that ever happened? Has there ever been a House Wife without a rune, or is that grounds for dismissal? Oh, Merlin – I’m going to be the first defective bespoke witch! It’s because I’m Muggle-born, isn’t it!”

He was laughing at her silently – she could feel him shaking against her. “Be patient, Hermione. We have lots more to go through.”

Reluctantly, she closed the second drawer. Despite their beauty and lighter magic, none had inspired a feeling akin to the one she’d felt when she accepted her stake.  _ That’s what I’m looking for – I’m sure of it. _ The third drawer went the same way as the first two. The more she touched them, the more convinced she became that she wanted one, and she was growing frustrated with her lack of success.

“That’s the lot of them. I was right – I’m defective.” Tears sprung into her eyes, and she fought them back. Then Draco was reaching an arm around her to the box and pressing a switch somewhere on the bottom. A previously hidden drawer popped out, revealing three last rings. She caught a glance of tiny platinum bars, capped on each end by jewels, right before Draco covered her eyes with his hand. 

“Try these.” He caught her hand in his and held it to the first ring, at the same time pinning her against the table’s edge with his thighs.  _ Oh.  _ She tried to focus on something besides the feel of his hard, eager body pressed against hers.  _ The rings.  _ Luckily Draco took charge. “What about this one?”

She felt warmth and liveliness.  _ It could be that one! _ “It feels good!” Hermione jumped at a tickling sensation on the side of her neck and realized he was kissing her.

“Now this one.” He moved her finger sideways, still shielding her vision. The magic in the second ring hummed with power and vitality.

“That one might work, too! Thank Merlin – I’m not a freak!”

His lips were moving down to her collarbone, and she could feel them curve into a smile. “What about this one?”

Hermione quieted her mind as she felt a new, different magic purr along the length of her hand before it slipped under her skin. It sparked a reaction that traveled along every nerve in her system, and made her sharply gasp aloud. It was the tactile equivalent of her Amortentia. “Oh, Draco. This is the one.”

His lips left the crook of her neck, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I know. You’re glowing already.” 


	55. More of Wednesday Afternoon

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday Afternoon pt . . . oh, I’ve lost track! Damnit . . .

She turned in his arms and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I want my rune to be in the form of a traditional House Wife ring, Draco.”

Draco groaned and pocketed the ring, but not before he’d kissed her soundly. When they broke apart, they were both wild-eyed. “We’re going to reenact every fantasy I’ve ever had about you, Hermione. Except the ones involving . . . errrr, hold that thought.”

_ He’s beginning to talk like me. _ She smiled at him almost giddily. “Absolutely. I really want to do something other than study right now, but it’s probably not a good idea.” Her hands ran down his chest, over the muscles of his stomach.

He groaned again. “You, Miss Granger, are going to be the death of me. It’s my turn to say ‘back to work’.” His hands were already removing hers from his body with gentle but firm force.

_ That’s two wizards I might be responsible for killing unintentionally _ . She returned to her seat. “So, back to tonight?”

He sat down, too, pulling his chair close to hers again. “Yes, but first I want to show you something I’ve only heard about.” He withdrew her ring from his pocket, holding it out to her. It gleamed in the palm of his hand, a tiny, slender bar of platinum capped on each end by a brilliant emerald. She reached for it, hesitating at the last second. Her hand hovered over his, feeling the faint magic pull from the rune. “The rings in that chest – they’re the ones worn by every previous Wife to House of Malfoy. Lucius felt led by the covenant to choose three of the most auspicious family rings and have them recast in preparation for today, and we had this ring and its two sisters made when you turned sixteen. The one that chose you was the very first to be used by our House. Before today, it only ever chose the matriarch, all those thousands of years ago. Pick it up, sweetheart.”

She felt its magic lick at her fingers, urging her to touch it. After another second’s pause she did, and it latched onto her forefinger with a magnetic determination that resonated through her being. Draco ran his finger along the ring. “It likes you very much.” He kissed her chastely and added softly, “Earlier you asked how a ring could be permanent. It chose you. After the ceremony tonight, it won’t ever let you go. Even now, it will only let you remove it. Watch.” His long, clever fingers tried to pry the slender bar from her finger but it clung to her skin. “It will stay with you for as long as you live, as long as at least one of us is alive as well.”

“It feels like a part of me, when you’re tugging like that,” she said in a quiet voice of awe. “And it’s lovely. Why is it so different from the others in the chest?” Actually, many of the rings hadn’t been literal rings – there had been all sorts of curious shapes and designs – but none had stood out from the others like the last three.

Draco blushed and looked down at his hands. “It was my job to choose how the rune was cast, just in case you chose to have a ring. The artisan drew a few sketches and I liked this one the most.” His blush darkened, and he shifted uncomfortably. “We should talk about something else.”

_ Something tells me those sketches might belong in Astoria’s dirty magical magazine. _ “Right. Back to tonight. Maybe we should walk through the ceremony – it’s what Minerva did with me for the binding.”  _ Partially. The clever woman. _ In hindsight, it was obvious her professor’s tactics had been designed to keep her from worry.

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” He held out his hand, looking at the little piece of jewelry still affixed to her forefinger, and Hermione plucked it off and handed it to him. When it had been tucked safely back into his pocket, he stood up. With a twinkle in his eyes, he bowed low before her and said, “Hello, little witch. Care to walk across this dark castle with me?”

She thought back to the night of the Ravenclaw party, when he’d said those exact words and gave him an adoring smile. “I’ll go anywhere with you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Where are we going?” Fleur’s lovely voice rang out behind them happily, causing them both to jump. Hermione growled internally, and then remembered her chaperone’s recent leniency. She also noticed the radiant expression on her chaperone’s face, and the sight of it softened any resentment she might have felt.

“Going through the steps of the ceremony. You can join us if you like,” She offered as nicely as she could.

The Frenchwoman didn’t seem to notice her charge’s tone. “Of course. I would be honored to help you learn the ways of our society.”

“I mean no offense, but how do you know the traditions? You’re not a Pure-blood.”

“And I take none. I am as much a Pure-blood as you yourself, Hermione. My grandmother was a Veela, yes – but my mother was a Bespoken one, and my father’s family covenant flows through my veins. I have been raised to carry on the traditions of my family proudly.”

The young witch turned to her wizard in puzzlement. “What does the term Pure-blood even mean anymore? Obviously it has nothing to do with blood status.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Only you would ask such a loaded question. Let’s save it for another day and get back to the rune ritual.” 

He led them to the nearest spiral staircase and they began climbing. The whole time, Draco pointed out various parts of the library that were seen more easily from above. The scope of the collection was beyond Hermione’s wildest library-related dreams, and she peppered his abbreviated tour with questions the whole way to the third floor. When they’d finally reached it, she nearly swooned. As with the first and second floor, this one encompassed the outer edges of the library and looked down over the ground floor. The curly-haired witch walked to the stone balustrade and leaned over. “I really do want to live here. We could sleep here tonight, Fleur – what do you say?”

The Frenchwoman gave her an incredulous look. “No.”

_ So much for softer, kinder Fleur. _ She tried a new tactic. “I’d really like to sleep here tonight, Fleur.” She added hopefully, “Come on – isn’t this something you and Gabrielle would do together?”

“No. We are  _ not _ sleeping here. Draco, please tell her it’s a terrible idea.”

The blond wizard was looking at her with a twinkle in his eyes again. He crossed over to her and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “If you can wait a few nights, I’ll sleep in here with you.”

An image of Draco, stripped to the waist and pulling her down to a bed of couch cushions sprang to mind unbidden, and she whimpered. “Yes, please.”

“I know the perfect spot,” he continued, his hands coming to rest on her waist, “we’ll make a nest of blankets up here, in the back of the philosophy of magic section. I have an eleventh century translation of Courtenay’s  _ Tretis de Magique _ we can read aloud to each other by wandlight.” 

_ I’m marrying a wizard who not only likes to read; he likes to read books with big words. And we’re going to read Anglo-Norman dissertations on magic to each other by wandlight. In bed. In the library.  _ Hermione turned her head so that her mouth moved against his cheek as she answered in a throaty voice, “That’s quite possibly the most erotic thing I have ever heard in my life.” 

“You are truly my Bespoke Witch,” Draco murmured huskily. His hands had tightened their hold on her waist, and now they began sliding down to the curve of her buttocks. Hermione’s slid up over his chest to snake around his neck, running through the hair at its nape.

Fleur interrupted the bubble that was forming around the two. “Excellent. Where’s the ritual site?”

Draco stood to his considerable full height and sighed with a resigned smile. “It’s just over here. Come on.” He took Hermione by the hand, and the three of them walked along the edge of the huge gallery. When they had walked around to the opposite side of the room, he pointed to a large glowing circle on the stone floor. “That’s where we hold the ceremony.”

_ How is he able to compartmentalize so well?  _ Hermione herself was still trying to shake the heady image of Draco in bed, which her imagination had so willingly supplied. “Start at the beginning. What happens before I get there?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “I have no idea – that’s not something they teach wizards, I suppose.”

Fleur waved the question away. “We can cover that later, Hermione. Stay on task. You and I will approach the site and I will take my place along the outer edge. My job is to stand guard during the ceremony.”

“I thought you had a special spot or something.”  _ Where you couldn’t see or hear us. _

“I do – here along the circumference. The actual spot where the site has been created is shielded even now, and when you enter it, more charms will be enacted. The three of you will be hidden within. No one will be able to see or hear you, but anyone who wishes may enter the ring. My job is to keep intruders at bay.”

“That could be easily fixed by adding a—“

Fleur and Draco interrupted at the same time to answer, “It’s tradition.”

“Of course. What next?”  _ Other than the moment when I decide whether or not to remove my robes. _ A frisson of nerves ran along her spine. It was one thing to partially bare herself to one of them, and another thing completely to stand naked in front of them both. Then one of her most recent dreams came to mind, reminding her of how much she’d been fantasizing about doing just that.  _ Part of me is ready even now. _

Draco’s soft, husky voice took over. “The ritual involves complex charms, as you would imagine, and the covenant’s presence will be more apparent.”

Fleur appeared to have lost interest, because she wandered away with a dreamy look on her face. Draco was quiet but confident when he spoke. “It will be like when your hand was marked at the acceptance ceremony, only it will just be us. I’ll hold you in my arms, and Lucius will set the rune.”

Hermione couldn’t decide if that made her even more nervous or turned her on even more -- perhaps a little of both. 

“Will it hurt? It’s not that I’m afraid of pain, but I’d like to know.” Her brain seemed to be on autopilot as the rest of her body once again ignited in arousal at the visual picture painted by his words. 

He blushed. “Judging by what I’ve heard from others, you won’t mind at all.”

_ So I’ll probably be bare in Draco’s arms while Lucius puts his hands on my breasts, and I’ll definitely enjoy what’s happening.  _ She tried to rub her slender thighs together as a pleasant ache formed between her legs. “What next?”

Draco caught the fabric of her dress in his grip and drew her flush to his body. His hands went to her arse, pulling her even closer. He spoke his answer directly into her ear. “We worship each other, Hermione.” The kiss he planted on her temple was in direct conflict with what the rest of his body was doing; it was sweet and innocent, and made the young witch want to stay where she was forever. 

Then her nerves caught up with the rest of her emotions, and she took a small step back. She looked up at him and said honestly, “I’m nervous.”

Draco stroked her cheek gently. “I know I’ve been ready for this a lot longer than you, but Lucius and I will follow your lead. It’s you who’ll be in charge until you’re more sure of yourself.”

_ I want to be sure of myself by the time we start the ceremony _ . She nodded. “Thank you for understanding.”

His next words were whispered against the corner of her mouth. “It’s an important part of my culture.”

She kept her mouth close to his. “It’s my culture now, too, Draco.”

He kissed her with fervor, his lips plying against hers in a way that made her feel dizzy. Draco’s hand traced the skin of her neck repeatedly, but never dipped any lower. Hermione found herself wishing it would; the ghost of every previous touch from earlier seemed to spread fire to every nerve ending. They kissed, wrapped in each other’s arms, until they were interrupted by a shimmer of light. Lucius’ Patronus had arrived.


	56. Wednesday - MidAfternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Ana for her email about the dodgy upload last Sunday. Let's try this again, but in increments.

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday - Mid Afternoon

She looked away from her young wizard’s eyes to catch sight of the beautiful, spectral animal slinking gracefully around them. It was a large, lush-coated fox, weaving its tail gracefully. Just as it fully materialized Lucius’ voice intoned, “In the garden, pet.”

Hermione returned her attention to Draco, who was smiling in an accepting way. _I’m leaving him to kiss his brother . . . and then some, probably . . . and he’s okay with it. This is going to be our version of normal for the rest of our lives._ She laughed self-consciously. “That’s my cue.”

“You’d best hurry; he’s an impatient wanker.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he looked horrified and added, “My apologies. I didn’t-”

She burst out laughing. “I like when you’re _you_ , Draco – you don’t have to apologize. I’ll see you in a while?”

He nodded, pressing his lips to hers one last time. “In a while.”

With a shared look full of promise, they parted. Hermione went in search of Fleur immediately, finally finding her draped over a couch nearby. She clapped her hands imperiously, snapping, “Up you go! Lucius is home and expecting me.” She grabbed hold of her chaperone’s hand and dragged her to a sitting position, ignoring the ensuing complaints. “You can think about Bill and Charlie anywhere. Oh, I know – there’s that lovely spot right by the pretty gold flowers. Do you remember the ones I’m talking about? Who knows – the boys will be back soon and maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of them from the garden.”

That unlikely suggestion seemed to do the trick. Fleur hurried through the large house alongside Hermione and even seemed to enjoy being teased about the Weasleys. “Wait until you meet the rest of them. Percy’s a bit of a- ummmm, well he’s very big on rules. And the twins are everybody’s favorite. Oh, and wait until you see Charlie shirtless. I think of him as a brother, but I still get distracted by the sight.”

“And Bill? How did he get the scars on his face?”

Hermione hoped her chaperone wasn’t concerned with anything as superficial as a few permanent marks. Her hackles rose slightly. “Werewolf. Bill is the bravest wizard you’ll ever meet, Fleur -- he just happens to like steak tartare during the full moon. He’s a wonderful man.”

Fleur didn’t seem to notice the tone her charge had taken. She replied absently, “I thought it added to his appeal.” A second later she added, “I like steak tartare as well.”

_Enough said._ She looked at their surroundings. _I’d say we’ve been walking for at least twenty minutes. That’s longer than it took last time._ The large main corridor they’d been following had seemed straightforward, and they hadn’t veered away from it, but it seemed to be taking them an awfully long time. “Are we going the right way, Fleur?”

Fleur gave her a condescending look. “I told you it was easier to Apparate around this place.”

Hermione gave a growl of frustration. “Fine. But that’s not a permanent solution. Oh, come _on_ , Fleur! Not Side Along!” The chaperone flashed her a warning look, composed herself, and Apparated them both to the hallway outside Lucius’ study.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Hermione burst through the door and hurried across the dark room. She called back to her chaperone over her shoulder. “Hurry!” Dashing through the open French windows, she managed to remember just in time to avoid looking at Lucius’ guardian roses _and_ to bring them to Fleur’s attention. “They’re even more beautiful in the afternoon – don’t you think?” Fleur didn’t answer, and when the curly-haired witch turned to look, she saw the Frenchwoman standing once again in a pleasant-looking daze before the flowers in question.

Hermione raced along the path toward the arbor of blue roses named in her honor. She called out quietly as she ran, “Lucius, I’m here!” As she rounded the last corner, her dress caught on a piece of nearby trellis and she pitched forward inelegantly. It was too late to arrest her fall with magic -- her wand was in her pocket – and the paved path was going to take all the skin from her knees. That was her last thought before a strong arm caught her around the waist mid-fall and set her back on her feet.

The race to Lucius and ensuing flirtation with disaster had left her bright-eyed and breathless. She stood panting in the safe circle of his arms, her hands clutching his robes. When she finally looked up at him, his handsome face wore an expression of amused concern. “Where is the Fiendfyre, pet?” He smoothed down the skirt of her dress and hugged her close.

Hermione laughed, almost giddy in her delight to see him, and stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck as best she could. “You’re home so early!” She stretched to kiss his chin. “We followed the main corridor from the library and after twenty minutes of walking decided to Apparate. I missed you terribly!”

Her words seemed to please him greatly, because his handsome face broke into a broad, happy smile just before he kissed her silly. The skilled ply of his mouth against hers felt playful, and the young witch felt the same rush of confidence she did every time she was with him. Eventually he pulled back, but as he began to straighten to his full height, Hermione tugged him back down for one last quick kiss to his jawline. She grinned, biting her lip. His hand brushed her curls away from her face gently and then held them back in a loose fistful as he pressed his own smiling lips to hers one more time. “And I you. Did you take the second stairway as you left the library?”

“What? No – why would we have—“ Suddenly the route of her first trip to the library came back to her, including her questioning Draco about using staircases to access a room on the ground floor. She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “How does that work?”

Lucius answered, as if the single word answered the question with clarity, “Leylines.”

_I’m going to have so much to research I might die from happiness._ “Of course.“ She turned her attention downward from his face when a flash of white fabric below his jaw caught her eye. Lucius had removed his cravat and unfastened the first few buttons of his high collared shirt. Further inspection showed what she in her previous dither had failed to notice – he had removed his outer robes and rolled his sleeves up over his strong forearms, and stood before her in comparative undress. Hermione traced her fingers from his strong chin down along his neck to the hollow of his throat. “You’re practically naked, Lucius.” She ran her hand down the placket of his shirt, to where his richly embroidered waistcoat covered his lower chest and abdomen. 

His eyes closed in pleasure. “Your grasp of basic language seems to be slipping, my prize. Must I teach you the meaning of the phrase _‘practically naked’?_

_Yes, please_. She stroked her fingers along his jaw, fascinated by the barest scratch of stubble there. “How were your meetings?”

“Successful. They were also very long and tiresome. I spent the majority of my time with my hand in my pocket.” His pale blue eyes twinkled down at her.

She toyed with the topmost button of his waistcoat, enjoying the natural banter that she had only ever found with him. It was as arousing as the rest of him, and her body responded accordingly. “Oh -- did you bring along a distraction?”

“You could say that, although it was hardly big enough to be called anything at all.” Lucius’ hand, which until now had been wrapped in her hair, slid down her back, pulling her against him. He leaned over her, causing her to bend backward slightly. “I spent the greater part of this morning with a flimsy excuse for a pair of knickers wrapped ‘round my left hand, thinking of you not wearing them, and trying to hide the proof of such thoughts from the people around me.” 

“You know, I would have gladly been your pocket distraction if that were possible. Then _I_ could have been wrapped ‘round your hand _in_ those flimsy knickers.” She arched further into him as she felt his large hands curve over her arse, and wrapped her arms around his neck for stability.

“I far prefer to enjoy you _out_ of them. In fact, I suggest that in the future, we keep this arrangement.”

Hermione breathed a soft laugh. “What, me going without undergarments and you keeping them in your pocket?” The desire that had sprung up from their repartee began to pool in her gut.

“Precisely.” Lucius hummed his approval into her ear before brushing his lips against the sensitive skin just below it. 

She hadn’t ever felt anything so exquisite as his mouth in that spot, and gave a small noise of approval. “How did you manage to come home so early? I didn’t expect you until much later.”

“Bertrand.” He continued to tease her neck with his mouth, explaining, “He’s a sentimental fool, and needed only to be told why I wanted to leave before the end of the business day.”

Hermione was mortified. She pulled back to look her wizard in the eye. “You told him that I put off our rune ceremony until tonight? I hope you let him know I didn’t know what I was doing!”

He was barely holding back a smirk. Lucius gently took a handful of her thick hair and used it to turn her head. He resumed his heavenly ministrations. “I simply told him I missed my bride-to-be. The idea of a Bespoke Witch postponing her rune ceremony would have been incomprehensible to him.” He toyed with her curls, sending little shivers of pleasure along her spine.

The curly-haired witch drew away from him again with a skeptical look. “Your cousin willingly stepped in for you? I thought he and Achille were gone today and tomorrow.” She sighed when he followed her movement, claiming her neck again with his lips.

“He might have caught a glimpse of my pocket distraction.” He chuckled deeply. “Once his heart started up again he was only too eager to send me back to the arms of my vixen.”

His words cut through the fog developing in her brain. She shoved Lucius away from her forcefully, practically hissing. “You showed him my knickers?!”

Lucius’ amusement showed plainly on his face. “Pull your claws in, kitten. It allowed me to escape, and made an old man very happy for a few moments.” He laughed again. “It’s probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to him in decades.”

His buoyant mood was contagious, and in spite of her embarrassment, she snorted. “You actually showed him my knickers.”

“It was obvious he was going to turn down my request, and then I accidentally drew them from my pocket.”

“ _Accidentally_?”

Lucius looked shocked, but his eyes were dancing. “Of course, pet – what kind of gentleman flaunts his exploits? However, once they were out and hanging from my finger, his eyes became glued to them. At that point it was like taking a chocolate frog from a very small child.” He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her against him once more.

  
  


_I am marrying into a House of snakes; I shouldn’t be surprised._ She bit her lip in an effort to keep from smiling, secretly enamored with the idea that he’d done it to get back to her more quickly. “That was quite a strategic move, I suppose.” 

He was grinning wolfishly down at her as his hands dropped to her buttocks. “Of course it was. It’s another argument in favor of me keeping your knickers for you.” 

A burble of laughter escaped her. “It’s the _only_ one, Lucius!”

“Nonsense.” He gave her bottom a squeeze and leaned down to give her one of his patented tonguefuls. Then he cancelled out the seductive tone of his actions by stepping back, taking her by the hand, and leading her to a nearby garden bench. They sat, as was their custom, Hermione perched on one of Lucius’ thighs. The elder Malfoy pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Before I get carried away, tell me about your day, my prize.”

Until that moment, Lucius had so dominated her attention that she’d forgotten how beautiful his garden truly was. Now, casting a lingering look around her, Hermione was again struck by the sheer magic of the place. In this corner alcove of the garden where only the Bespoke roses grew, every ruffled, pale blue bloom seemed to have turned toward them. She felt the magic reach out to her and then course through her, and she reveled in the knowledge that this was where she had always been meant to be. _Dumbledore was right – I am grateful to him._ Then Lucius called her name softly, and she forgot about the splendor around her. 

Hermione snuggled into her nook, rubbing her nose against the bare skin of his neck. Her hands wound tightly around his shoulders. _Mine._ “Minerva found your good Firewhiskey and made Irish coffee until we were all a bit tipsy. It made certain parts of it more bearable. Thank goodness for Sober-Up.”

“Indeed. Did you stay within the Manor?” His fingers were running up and down her arm in heavenly patterns.

She raised her head to press a series of kisses along his strong jawline. “I didn’t so much as go near a window.” _How did I keep from kissing him before last Saturday?_

Lucius breathed a few silent breaths of laughter against the top of her head. “Good girl. How did you like your gifts?” 

She felt his eyes boring through the top of her head, and met his gaze with a blush. “The ones I got from the witches were . . . interesting, and we all fell asleep after I’d opened just one of yours. Fleur and I will finish later tonight.”

His lips were twitching. “Interesting? Would you care to show them to me?” One of his long fingers strayed to stroke the curve of her breast, sending goose bumps along every inch of her exposed skin.

It took a moment for her to process his question. “No!” She cried belatedly, and then recovered herself. “I mean, maybe later. Not later today, but _later_ later.” She gave an inward groan and squeezed her eyes shut, allowing Lucius to pull her head back gently. “Go ahead – enjoy my blush. You know exactly what kinds of things they gave me, and you just like to fluster me.”

He laughed outright. “I enjoy ruffling your pretty feathers, it’s true. Would you like to tell me about the rest of your day so far?”

“Draco had Bowly pull every work relating to history, laws, and traditions regarding House Wives. Oh, and the personal diaries! I cannot _wait_ to get started on those.” She looked up at him, glad to see he enjoyed her excitement. “But there was so _much_ , Lucius! In the end Draco gave me an abbreviated lesson. I think I’ll need several more over the next two days . . .” She trailed off, lost in thought.

Lucius interrupted her musings. “Have you found a preference regarding instructors, pet?” His fingers had stopped their stroking, and there was a trace of stiffness to the way he held his body in that moment.

_He sounds the tiniest bit insecure._ She was puzzled for a moment, and then it hit her: he’d already lived through one marriage, however brief, in which he hadn’t been his wife’s choice. _Lucius is going to doubt himself and me until after tonight. Perhaps even longer._ “I prefer all of my instructors – you and Draco especially, but Fleur and Molly as well.” The young witch tipped her face up and murmured, “Will you teach me something new, Lucius? There’s _so much_ I don’t know.”

His muscles seemed to relax. He leaned down to her level and pressed his mouth against hers, intoning, “Where shall I begin?”

Hermione was relieved to have made the connection in time to reassure Lucius, but her heart still ached for him. She thought quickly. “Not here. Let’s go inside and sit in your chair.”

That seemed to please him immensely. “Of course.” As they stood and headed toward the house, she appropriated one of his arms and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then, using her own to envelop his waist, she turned her head into his side, hiding her anticipatory grin. Hermione was suddenly looking forward to seeing Lucius’ face when she told him her news.

When they came to the final bend before the guardian flowers, Lucius pulled her to a stop. “Hush.” He was looking at her intently, and it occurred to her that he was performing wandless magic. 

“Disillusionment?” She mouthed. He nodded, motioning her to precede him past Fleur and into the study. At the door he ushered her inside and cast a quick Muffliato. It was a good thing, too, because right then Hermione gave a startled shriek. “All Knowing Circe Above – the rug just moved!” She drew her wand instinctively and aimed it across the room.

Lucius gave a loud, hearty laugh, which calmed the young witch somewhat. _He looks so young when he does that_ . She looked back toward the far end of the room. _I know it moved._ “Oh. Oops.”

There, lying almost stone-still before the fireplace, two enormous wolfhounds regarded her solemnly. They were shaggy and warm-eyed, and Hermione looked back at Lucius with a cautious gaze. “Are they . . .?”

He answered her by taking her hand and leading her toward the dogs. The closer they got, the larger they appeared to be. _Merlin – they’re in scale with this house._ Lucius made a clucking sound and the two animals rose soundlessly and approached. Standing, their heads reached her chest level, but the giant dogs seemed benign. “Hello,” she offered politely. Her hand came up as if to pet one on the top of its mammoth head, but hung in mid-air between them. It cocked its head at her words, and she said to no one in particular, “I’m sorry for my hesitancy, but the last time I cozied up to a dog it stole my wand and helped kidnap me.”

_Was that . . . did it just smile sympathetically at me?_ Hermione had the strangest feeling that the dog had understood her. She looked at Lucius for explanation. He was smiling as well, and his hands were buried in the other hound’s shaggy brindle coat, scratching behind its ears. “These, my lovely one, are Castor and Pollux. They’ve been my companions since Draco first left for school.” He added in answer to her questioning look, “Malfoy hounds are exceptionally intelligent.” He turned back to the dogs. “Alright you beasts, that’s enough for now. Give her time to acclimate.”

Hermione was sure they both nodded at her wizard before returning to their resting places. “I hope I didn’t offend them, but the whole Pansy thing was a bit off-putting. I just need a bit more time.”

“They heard all about it yesterday morning. Don’t worry, they took no offense.”

She stared at her handsome wizard for a moment. “If _anyone else_ in the world said that to me, I’d think they were crazy. Where have they been until now?” _They’d have been impossible to miss if they were anywhere nearby._

“Bowly sent them to the groundskeeper’s house when I was delayed overnight at Hogwarts on Monday, and they’ve just come back this morning.”

Hermione blushed and nodded. There was nothing to say other than to reiterate her apology, and she didn’t want to rehash the awful incident. The hounds returned to their original places, settling back into an almost unmoving state, and Lucius led her to his chair. She was a bit unnerved by the idea that the dogs might be listening to the ensuing conversation, but didn’t want to offend them or Lucius by bringing this up. _He knows as well as I do where this lesson will inevitably end up. Do they?_ She shook off the thought as she settled onto his lap.

The elder Malfoy pulled her once more into the nook between his jaw and shoulder, cradling her head with one hand. “What shall we talk about today, pet?” He murmured in her ear.

She took a long hit of his innate fragrance before replying, “Let’s talk about the ceremony, please.”

The fingers of his other hand began drawing patterns on her shoulder, and he kissed her head. “Very well, as soon as you’re ready we’ll meet in the library, third floor. I assume Draco showed you the site of the ritual?”

He lifted her hair to skate his fingers over the bare skin of her upper back, and she shivered appreciatively. “Yes.”

“And you understand that Mademoiselle Delacour will guard the perimeter of our site?”

“Mmmmmm. Yes.” Now he was rubbing her neck with his strong fingers, and a sweet, tender mood seemed to prevail.

Hermione raised her free hand to the back of Lucius’ head and unbound his hair. She dragged her fingernails over his scalp and through his thick pale locks. He hummed contentedly and continued, “Did you pick your rune with Draco?”

This would have been the logical place in their conversation for the young witch to declare her intentions regarding the tradition, but the mischievous part of her that had only seemed to awaken after she’d met Lucius Malfoy reared its head. “I don’t _want_ my skin to be marked with a rune. We talked about this, Lucius.” She kept her lips from his neck as she spoke so that he couldn’t feel her smile. _What does it mean to be a ‘ring wizard’? When did Lucius become one?_

“We did.” His hand paused in its ministrations to her neck briefly and then resumed its massage. “And _I_ told you we would have you marked as the Malfoy House Wife for all the world to see. This is non-negotiable.” 

His tone was firm, but Hermione pressed on. “I still don’t understand why I can’t have a ring instead.”

“I do not expect you to _understand_ ,” he growled, “I _expect_ you to _trust me_.”

“You don’t like rings?” She looked up at him innocently, biting back the impish grin that threatened to break through.

He dropped his head against the back of the chair. “Draco and I agreed that as a Muggle-born witch, a rune would probably be preferable to you in the end. The traditions of the Pure-bloods are much different from those of the Muggle world, and even the rest of _our_ world finds some of them to be archaic. This custom in particular is not widely published --”

_Is he blushing? He is – Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is blushing like a schoolboy_ ! She interrupted impishly to continue her mock argument, “They must not go on your finger, then, because Astoria doesn’t wear one and I _know_ she has a ring.” She kept her face straight and eyes wide as possible. “Can’t you just explain it to me so I _can_ understand?” _How the tables have turned – less than a week ago he was calling me an ingénue, and now he’s the one that’s having trouble talking!_

“Very well.” He was shifting her body so that her legs curled up over one of his legs and she faced him almost directly. _He moves me as easily as if I were a small child._ “You have bound yourself to the House of Malfoy, pet, and you _will_ have a rune – but the mark should be your choice. I think we have found our lesson.”

She kissed his cheek. _Enough torturing. For now._ “And you know I love learning, but I think you should know-“

“Ah, ah, ah. Hush.” She felt him take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and then exhale slowly. “You smell like jasmine. I missed you very much today.” She ran her fingers through his hair, waiting for him to begin. He kept his face close to hers, and when he spoke it was against her skin. “In ancient times the rune of the House Wife was cast in a ring, and in keeping with those earliest cultures it was worn-“

“Lucius, I was jok-“

“Hermione,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You asked me a question. Common courtesy demands that you listen to my answer.”

“It’s worn in the left nipple. I know.” She tugged his hair lightly, feeling him shudder in response before her words sank in.

He pulled back with a blank look. _That’s as close to shocked as Lucius Malfoy will probably ever look._ She felt a mild sense of accomplishment. “You know?”

“Draco told me today. The two of you seem to think it’s unique to Pure-blood wizarding families, but, other than the magic part, body piercing is actually quite common. To the wizarding world it might seem like an ancient tradition, but for Muggles it’s gone in and out of fashion several times over the centuries. It should have been obvious much earlier to me because of Astoria’s piercings, although to be honest I don’t like to ask her too many questions.”

Lucius gave a visible shudder. “Ravenclaw witches have always terrified me.”

“She gave me a very pretty anal plug, which I honestly hope never to use.” _However the more I think of it, the more I’m intrigued by the idea of the matching wandless vibrator._

He snorted. “Let’s not open the Nott wedding gift.” 

“Oh, I don’t know – it might be fun to see what it is. Just because.” She smirked and changed back to their former subject. “You could have just told me, you know, instead of dancing around the issue.”

“I apologize for that. In my defense, just last Friday you were a completely different witch. Do you remember not even being able to say the word ‘fantasies’?”

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You were very testy just now.”

“I apologize for that as well.”

“You’re forgiven. Draco told me you were volatile.”

“He was correct.”

“He also called you an impatient wanker.”

Lucius burst out into gales of laughter, and any tension remaining between them dissolved. When he’d wiped the tears from his eyes and finally stopped chuckling, he said, “I thought we’d established this morning that teasing isn’t nice, my prize.”

“Actually, we agreed that teasing without _fulfillment_ isn’t nice. I intend to deliver on my promises.”

His blue eyes regarded her warily for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , Lucius, that I want to bear my Malfoy rune in the traditional way. I told you before – I don’t want my skin to be marked with a rune. I want a ring.”

His fingers tightened their hold on her momentarily. “Is this true, Hermione?”

She pressed her lips to his, licking his bottom lip and pushing her tongue into his warm, willing mouth. When he began to dominate the kiss she pulled back just enough to speak against his lips. “I won’t tease you without fulfillment again, my love. Yes, it’s true.”

His mouth met hers again in a series of deep, warm, wet kisses that were simultaneously happy and fierce. When they finally parted to catch their breath, he replied hoarsely, “You cannot comprehend how much this pleases me.” He raised a hand and traced a line from her swollen lips, down her neck, to her breasts. It spanned them, thumb and middle finger barely brushing against quickly tightening peaks. 

She became aware of his erection pressing against her thigh and fleetingly wondered how long he’d been so aroused. _I can feel how pleased you are._ Hermione felt him trembling beneath her and asked with concern, “What is it?”

“I am trying very hard not to terrify you.” Lucius’ eyes, which had tracked the movements of his hand, rose to meet hers with a flash of intensity that had her squirming in his lap. 

_But I might like it._ She realized he was holding himself back by a thread, every muscle tensed as a means of control, and the thought that she had done this to him was heady. Hermione pushed her chest into his fingertips as she felt a rush of wetness between her legs. _I really wish I had my knickers on right now._ “I’ve faced down a dragon, a dark lord, and an unintentional engagement to two men – I can handle you.” She leaned toward his ear, adding in a conspiratorial tone, “I’m not afraid of you, Lucius Malfoy.”

“Then you are truly my Bespoken one,” He murmured, raising a hand and curling it around her neck possessively. He looked away from her briefly, saying to the hounds at their feet, “Perhaps Draco needs your company more than I do at present.” The large dogs rose gracefully to their incredible full height and padded out of the study, both pausing at the door to turn and give Lucius a certain look that Hermione couldn’t quite place. _Were they . . . smirking?_

Lucius’ shaggy companions were forgotten as the desire that had moved between them like an undulant wave suddenly crested. He drew her face to his, pressing a sinful, lingering kiss to her mouth. “I’m going to touch you now, pet.” Those words instantly turned the want inside of her to need, and she moved to straddle his lap and reconnect their mouths. He wrestled the skirt of her dress up around her waist, sliding a hand along one of her slender thighs and up to palm her bare bottom. He pulled away from her lips to whisper hoarsely, “When has there ever been a piece of flesh so perfectly formed as this arse of yours?” He gave it a firm squeeze, and Hermione pushed back into his grip. 

_I think Lucius is an arse wizard._ Lucius was regarding her with heavy lidded eyes as his other hand curled around her hip. “Tell me which rune chose you.”

Hermione was having difficulty concentrating on anything other than the feel of her wizard’s thumb rubbing back and forth along the hypersensitive stretch of skin where her leg and torso joined. The problem was furthered by the fact that he had begun to caress her neck with his mouth in a sequence of open-mouthed kisses and gentle bites. Still, she strove to maintain cogent thought. _I’m the- nngh -- brightest witch of my time – Oh. I should be able to multitask, for Merlin’s sake! Oooh._ Finally she managed to answer. “Can it be a surprise?”

His reply was given to the skin along her collarbones, which he was licking and nipping in tandem with the motion of his thumb. “Tell me.” 

There was a coil of pleasure winding in her gut. Hermione spread her legs further apart, that he might extend his touch. She turned her attention to his ear and lightly sank her teeth into it. “Why do you need to know now?”

Lucius growled against her neck, pulling back far enough to look her in the eye. “ _Tell me_.” His hand moved away from her hip, causing her to make a noise of disapproval. He smirked, trailing his fingers over the skin of her stomach in a downward path. As they reached the short, sodden curls of her mound, he spoke against her mouth. “Tell me it was the matriarch’s ring. The one with the emeralds.”

Hermione couldn’t answer immediately; her motor function had temporarily short-circuited in the overload of sensory input from her wizard’s hand. His fingers had slid between her lower lips and begun to move in an agonizingly slow rhythm that only increased the ache already there. She tried to speak, but just then he started a circuitous pattern around the hood of her clitoris. Her hand went to his head, twisting a handful of his long, pale hair in her fingers. She could only breathe, “Oh, gods.”

He kissed her, sucking on her already swollen bottom lip before pushing his tongue into her mouth. When they paused to breathe, he murmured, “Our beautiful bride will be adorned with jewels meant only for us to see. Will you open your dress for me, Hermione?” The curly-haired witch complied eagerly, unbuttoning the front of her dress and sliding the straps from her shoulders. Lucius regarded the newly bared skin with a hot gaze as his fingers began to move in earnest. He looked into her eyes. “Tell me.” He lowered his mouth to one breast and teased its nipple with his teeth and tongue.

Any fight in Hermione was quickly being overshadowed by the almost painful coil of need that was straining to release within her. She managed to stall a few more seconds, until the moment that coil snapped and the most incredible feelings of relief and pleasure resonated throughout her entire being. “Nnnngh, Luc—oh, please—yes, yes, emeralds—OH! Oh, Lucius!” She continued to pant his name as her orgasm played itself out, finally dropping her head to his shoulder in a boneless state of euphoria.

He made a hoarse sound and shifted beneath her. “You may withdraw your claws, kitten.”

At his words, Hermione realized that at some point she had sunk her nails into his upper back. Hastily she rubbed over the skin, feeling the twin rows of indentations even through the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry for that.” He was looking at her with glazed eyes, and his brows were drawn down. It was obvious that he was at the very least uncomfortable, and Hermione was reminded of the inequity of the courtship rules. _And to think, I thought those rules were in the wizards’ favor until this morning. They’re in nobody’s favor!_ “I’m sorry for _this_ , too,” she added, placing a small hand over the large tent in his trousers.

Her action caused him to chuckle again, and he removed her hand quickly. “Don’t be. I like your little claws, and the rules are only temporary. But let’s not push my limits, shall we?”

“It—“ She was too sated to blush, but she looked away for a moment before meeting his pale blue eyes. “It doesn’t feel right at all to be the only one enjoying myself.”

“What if I told you it gave me immense pleasure to touch you?” He stroked one finger over the curve of her cheek.

She leaned into his touch. “That’s all fine and well, but I want to touch you, too.”

He closed his eyes and gave a thick swallow. “I beg of you, Hermione -- please think of something else to talk about.”

That snapped her out of her haze. _My poor Lucius!_ The first thought to cross her mind was of her chaperone. “We’ve completely forgotten about Fleur! Perhaps it’s time to wake her up.”

The elder Malfoy glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Nonsense. We’ve been in here all of thirty minutes, pet. Mademoiselle Delacour is no doubt enjoying whatever daydream she has been caught in. The charms of that flower suspend both mentally and physically, so its prisoners suffer no ill effect.”

“That reminds, me – oh, I cannot believe I haven’t told you this yet! The Weasley men are probably right at this very minute casting a stake for her.” When Lucius only raised an elegant eyebrow in response, she added, “She’s Bespoke.”

His mouth twitched, and he gave a huff of amusement. “That old goat.”

_He knows Professor Dumbledore was up to something, too._ “Before we left the school, the Headmaster asked me to trust him. How could he have known, though?” She curled up against him contentedly.

Lucius shifted her leg away from his hard shaft with a reproachful look. “Behind that doddering façade is one of the most gifted wizards of all time. I have seen him, given mere hours, extrapolate complex connections between events and people and then employ his considerable talents to bring them together. In this particular case, he has orchestrated your acceptance, my choice in chaperone, and I would go so far as to suggest he somehow influenced Molly and her boys. There’s no other way to explain the fact that they were willing to help her here, knowing you were with us. He has single handedly secured House Wives for two ancient families in the space of two weeks – although I suspect his dabbling began not long before I _first_ employed Mademoiselle Delacour.”

“I’ll grant that his strategy worked with me – but you were the one who discovered me, all those years ago. How could he possibly have known Fleur, whom he’d never met, would be a bespoke witch for the Weasleys?”

“I may have found you myself, but that man used you as bait to lure me to his side, and then used our stake in his favor.” His tone was one of grudging admiration. “In the words of Theodore Nott, Albus Dumbledore is one frightening bastard.”

“You do realize that I never would have accepted your stake if you _hadn’t_ fought on the right side,” she challenged, eyes narrowed slightly. “You could just as easily say that he used the entire war in your favor.”

He raised one large hand and tenderly brushed a few stray curls from her face. “I would have done anything for you, my prize.” Hermione swooned just a bit. She slid down to nestle against the broad chest of her wizard, making sure to avoid his persistent erection. 

  
  



	57. Wednesday - Late Afternoon/Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what happened to last week's update, but I hesitate to blame AO3 since it's such a stable site as a whole. Let's just move along and agree it was confusing, shall we? For now I'll stick to smaller uploads.

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday – Late afternoon/Evening

They sat in silence for a while, tangled in each other’s arms. Finally Lucius said in a low voice, “However capricious your decision to move our ceremony to tonight, it was also serendipitous.”

Hermione tipped her head where it rested on his broad shoulder so that she could see his face. “Because now I’ll wear a ring instead of a mark on my skin?”

One side of his sensual mouth curled in a smirk. “I won’t contest that, but I meant that you had time to learn more about Pure-blood tradition.” He leaned down and kissed her head. “I struggle with remembering how little you know; for me, the customs of our society have been ingrained since birth, and I don’t know where to begin with you. Your poise under this set of circumstances is truly admirable.”

“In some ways, it’s no different than when I learned I was a witch. Except, of course, that there’s no one definitive textbook for Bespoke Witches, is there – like  _ Bespoke Witches: A History.  _ If there were, I’d have read it through several times already! And I’ve been nothing but distracted and self-conscious since accepting that stake.” She sighed. “Why wasn’t I fighting for being in the library, looking for information about all of,” she waved her hands between the two of them, “this? I know I haven’t been that single-minded swot I was once for a while, but I didn’t even  _ try _ .”

Lucius tightened his arms around her. “Would you believe me if I told you I think it was the Malfoy covenant?”

“What do you mean?” Absently, Hermione wound a lock of his hair around her fingers, marveling at its silky texture.

“I have felt for years as though I knew you, both through Draco’s constant updates and those of Voldemort’s spies. This past year you have been a different witch – almost aimless by the standards to which you held yourself before. Draco has maintained you suffered greatly during the war, and I agree that the valor you showed came at considerable cost. You gave your mind and body necessary time to heal these past months, Hermione. In a similar way, I think the covenant has been guiding you in your approach to this betrothal. It  _ has _ been with you since you accepted the stake, after all.”

She continued to play with his hair, spiraling it around her forefinger in a curl. “Making me do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do? Or, in this case, keeping me from things, like independent study?”

“Leading you along the best path. Perhaps it had some knowledge of what would happen if you followed that other course.”

“I certainly wouldn’t have spent as much time daydreaming, or being ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice to visit with you and Draco. And poor Harry would have been living in the library for all that time as my chaperone.” She released the lock of hair, only to find that it defied her attempts to wave it. It dropped, smooth and heavy, against her palm.

“I make no assertions to understanding the covenant fully, but it does alter us at times.”

The young witch sat up straight in his arms, looking at him with slight apprehension, the wonder that was Lucius’ hair temporarily forgotten. “Then are we transformed into something we’re not, really? Have we been changed from our own selves?”

He frowned. “How do you feel right now?”

She thought for a moment. “Terrified, and resigned, and utterly exhilarated. Like I was born for this, kept ignorant until now, and must play a lightning round of catch-up. It’s my greatest fantasy and worst nightmare wrapped together in one destiny.” 

“Do you feel as though you’ve been manipulated?”

She traced a finger along the placket of his shirt, pressing enough that she could feel the dip and swell of his muscled chest beneath. “No, that’s not what I meant at all – I feel more like myself than I have in so long! It began last night, when I arrived here, and the feeling has been growing stronger ever since – as though I’ve come home. And I’ve been given the greatest challenge of my life! But I have so much to learn and do – and so little time. And the thought of all those books and diaries . . .” She licked her lips in an unconscious, predatory manner.

Lucius smiled down at her. “Those don’t sound like the thoughts of someone who’s been changed into something she’s not. And it doesn’t sound like she’s been manipulated.  _ Guided _ , perhaps.”

“Have you never questioned the Malfoy covenant?”

Mercurial as ever, Lucius underwent an immediate transformation from happy and relaxed to stiff and forbidding. “I’ve already told you about that.”

_ Narcissa _ . “Will you tell me about her? I mean, I’m taking her place. It seems only fair.” 

The question obviously irritated him, and he growled, “ _ She _ has no place in this House;  _ you _ are taking the one destined only for  _ you _ . Yes, I doubted the family magic. When Draco was born, I realized I had been wrong to do so. And as far as  _ fair _ goes . . .” He huffed. “Not today. I don’t want to squander this time speaking of such things.” Lucius’ body was still tense beneath hers, but he reached for her and pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair.

His gaze had been positively glacial, but it had no effect on the curly-haired witch other than to inspire impish compassion. She had been speaking the truth earlier when she’d said she wasn’t afraid of him. Hermione pressed a soft kiss to the skin of his neck. “We could always talk about Ron Weasley instead,” she ventured with a gleam in her eye.

“ _ Hermione _ .” The single word was a warning in itself.

_ I’ll let you off this time, but you will talk to me eventually. _ “Oh, alright. So you’re saying that the covenant had a plan, and now we are watching it come to fruition.”

“I believe so. It brought me Draco and you, and it guided you to spend these last two weeks developing relationships with us.”

She could see his point. “It’s certainly easier learning about your culture when I don’t feel awkward around you. It was awful before, with the few things Minerva  _ did _ tell me.”  _ Learning I would be marrying two men without really knowing either of them, for instance.  _ The memory brought every anxiety about the next upcoming hurdle to her mind.  _ The rune ceremony.  _ She twisted in his arms until her back was against his broad chest, stretching her arms up behind her to wrap them around his neck. It was easier admitting her fears without looking at him. “We never finished talking about tonight. I’m nervous.”  _ Despite my dreams, I don’t know if I’m ready for the three of us to be so intimate together. _

His arms wrapped around her in a comforting way. “About which part, pet?”

Hermione’s chin tilted up as it did whenever she faced her fears head-on. She swallowed and began resolutely, “Being with both of you at the same time. Like that.”

“Like what, my prize?” He kissed the top of her head lightly.

She twisted her head enough so that she could just see his expression out of the corner of her eye. “You  _ know _ what I mean, Lucius.”  _ This isn’t the time for one of our games. _

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

He sounded genuinely confused, so she pressed on. “Draco told me! He . . . he said . . .” She hesitated, trying to couch her explanation in terms that would both satisfy his question and preserve her dignity.

Now he was vexed, but she knew it wasn’t with her. He bit out, “Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Tell me exactly how the boy cocked this up.”

Hermione turned back to her original position, facing her wizard. She flashed him a quick glare of caution. “Don’t you dare assume Draco did anything wrong! He was very sweet when he said it, and it was only afterward that I began thinking of what he meant.”

Lucius was obviously trying to contain himself. He took a deep breath before saying slowly, “ _ What _ was it he  _ said _ ?”

She blushed but answered, “We were talking about what would happen after you set the rune or ring, and he said that we would worship each other. In light of the fact that I’m supposed to arrive wearing only a ceremonial robe, I thought that was fairly self-explanatory. Molly mentioned it earlier, too.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head as a small smile played on his lips. “And your vivid imagination assumed that the two of us would ravish you simultaneously within an inch of the rules.” Lucius leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Oh, my lovely one.” He leaned his forehead against hers and stayed in that position.

“You mean we won’t be . . . errrrr, ravishing each other?” Her blush was surprisingly slight, and she chalked this up to the fact that her curiosity was once again rearing its head. She leaned back so that she could look at him directly. “What will we be doing then? You yourself said-“

He interrupted her with another kiss, a brief but sensual touch of his mouth against hers. “Hush, and listen.” Hermione found herself snuggled into her nook, with his hands stroking her back and his chin resting on the top of her head. “I can see where Draco’s poetic eloquence may have filled you with apprehensions. Clearly you have no idea of the power you hold over us. You will guide us, Hermione, and we will follow tonight. This begins with what you choose to wear, and continues until we conclude the ritual and exit the warded site. We have no agenda.”

“I’m so confused!” She growled against his neck, for once immune to the scent of his skin. 

“Tonight you’ll enter the circle, we will make our vows, and then Draco will hold you in his arms while I set our ring. It won’t take long – if we had done it this morning, we would only have said the vows and set the rune, and I still would have made my first meeting.”

In comparison to her former nerves, her relief felt almost like disappointment. “That’s all? Molly made it sound like . . . well, you know Molly.”

She could hear the irritation in his voice. “Forget everything that silly woman said.” He seemed to be breathing her in for a long moment, and then he said, “In consideration of your . . . _divergent heritage_ . . . and ensuing apprehensions, I suggest we recreate this particular tradition. We can begin with dinner – one such as we shared last night?” At her nod, he continued in a considering tone, “Perhaps you’ll consider wearing a new gown for us in lieu of the traditional robe; that way you don’t overanalyze your choice of garment.”

“That sounds acceptable. Fleur and I could finish with the presents before dinner instead of later in the evening.” She paused and then added, “So there won’t be any ravishing?”

“Let us keep our focus on the meal and setting the ring. If at any point there is a mutual need to be  _ worshipped _ , as my brother said, you have only to say the word.” 

_ I want to touch you, Lucius. I just don’t know if I want to do it for the first time with Draco there, and vice versa. But I’ll keep an open mind.  _ She sighed and wove her arms around his neck. “My Lucius – how is it that you give me such confidence? I feel as though I can do anything when I’m with you.”

“Turn away from the things that have caused you to doubt yourself, my prize. Here in this place, accept your destiny and take your rightful place as the Wife of a great House. You are a queen in our world.”

Hermione responded to the beautifully worded sentiment by drawing him down for another, more heated kiss, sliding her hand beneath his loosened shirt collar to feel his warm skin. She let him dominate her mouth, reveling in the realization that he only did so because she allowed it. Finally, they pulled apart to breathe. “I love you.”

“And I you.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and changed the subject abruptly. “Draco mentioned you would like a picture taken of your handmark – shall we have Trinket do that for us?”

“Yes, please.” She slid her hand out from under his shirt reluctantly, enjoying the expression of pleasure that crossed his face.

The picture turned out differently and far better than she had imagined. It was of her sitting in Lucius’ lap, her back to his chest and legs between his, with her right hand raised behind her head and intertwined in his thick, pale hair. The left curled up over his right arm (wrapped tightly around her), his hand cupping her left breast possessively. Lucius gazed at the camera triumphantly until Hermione, whose radiant face was tilted up and eyes locked on his, murmured something and he looked down at her with an adoring, playful expression. As the house elf had aimed the camera at them, she had been only vaguely aware of the placement of his hand. Now that it had been captured forever in a magical picture, she was in turns shocked and aroused. “I can’t believe you did that! Now we can’t put this out anywhere – it will have to go in a private room!”

Lucius grinned wolfishly at her. “What an excellent idea, pet – pictures taken expressly for our boudoir.” 

The laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. “Perhaps it’s time to go find Fleur.” Reluctantly Hermione untangled herself from her wizard’s arms and stood. “Come with me?”

“With pleasure.” He rose from his chair and offered an arm to her gallantly, which she took with her left hand. As the two crossed the room, he stroked his fingers over her beautiful handmark and murmured, “We should have a picture taken of the three of us tonight before your handmark begins to fade.” 

They stepped out into the garden and walked a few steps beyond Fleur on the path. Then, with a mischievous smirk on his handsome face, he called out theatrically, “Oh dear, I have a business Floo call to make.” The chaperone stirred and looked toward them. Lucius turned to Hermione and said with twinkling eyes, “I’m afraid I shall have to cut our visit short, my prize. I look forward to seeing you tonight in the library at seven o’clock.” With a deep bow in her direction and a courteous nod of his head to Fleur, he was gone.

Fleur gave a puzzled frown. “Don’t you want to spend a few minutes with Lucius? He’s only just returned.”

Hermione stared at her innocently. “Fleur, it’s four o’clock. We’ve been standing here talking while you’ve been mooning by the gold roses for nearly an hour! Honestly, what kind of chaperone are you?”

Not long after, she and Fleur entered Lucius’ study to find him at his desk, immersed in parchment and supposedly preparing for his Floo call. After securing one last kiss and a promise that he would find Molly and send her their way shortly, she left with the Frenchwoman in tow. They made their way back to Hermione’s suite by a straightforward route. 

Trinket seemed to have been alerted to the change in plans, for the gifts were piled on the rug just inside the opened French windows. Sunlight streamed across the room, and a light breeze brought with it the scent of spring. The two witches set about opening the wrapped boxes as quickly as possible, employing magic to do the work for them.

Meanwhile, they lay side by side in a patch of sunlight on the soft rug, talking quietly together. Hermione was determined to ask as many questions about the rune ceremony as possible before Molly got there, but Fleur was having difficulty paying attention. “What do young Pure-blood witches get taught about rune ceremonies? I mean, what happens after the vows and the rune setting?” She flourished her wand, sending a pile of tissue and empty boxes to an empty corner of the room.

The Frenchwoman was on her back, head resting on her hands, and gazing dreamily out the windows. “Hmmmm? Sorry. It all depends. If you don’t know your wizards very well, it will most likely be short and formal – but if you are familiar with them, then you’re free to explore the boundaries set by the rules. It can be as long as you like, providing your chaperone guards the site well. Oh, that one is  _ very _ pretty!” She directed a flowing taupe gown of almost transparent chiffon towards the growing pile on the foot of the bed.

_ That is the vaguest answer possible.  _ Hermione turned her head toward her friend. “Which do you think Lucius and Draco will expect?”

Fleur gave a small tinkling laugh. “I think they are asking each other the same question about you. Don’t worry, their regard for you is deep. They won’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.” She sighed. “I have always dreamed of being a Bespoke Witch, and now that it has happened I cannot think of anything else. Tell me about the Weasleys.”

Obviously she was going to have to invest in this conversation to get anything out of it. “Arthur and Molly have seven children. Errrrr, that is to say, they  _ had _ seven children. The sixth son, Ron, was weeded recently, I think.”

Fleur’s head shot up, and she had an odd expression on her face. “Lucius spoke to me at length about him, but I had forgotten all about him in my excitement. You should not speak so freely of him.”

Hermione responded with great curiosity, “What did he say about him?”

“That he was a scoundrel who had treated you dreadfully and dragged his family’s good reputation through the mud. I was told that if he were somehow to escape and approach you, that I should use any means necessary to stop him.” She added in an undertone, “I was, of course, warned of his condition.”

“Do you know anything about what happened to him after he was taken from Hogwarts?”

“That’s a better question for Molly, don’t you think?” From the tone of her voice and that weird look, Hermione deduced that Fleur didn’t wasn’t very keen about the subject.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” She sighed.  _ Like pulling teeth. _ “Back to the ceremony, though. How does one prepare for such a thing as group intimacy? I’ve dreamed about it, and fantasized about it while awake, even, but now that I’ll be with both of them tonight in a romantic setting . . . I’ve only ever kissed one in front of the other once.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Oh, please – if it’s anything like the meal last night you’ll do just fine.”

“What do you mean?” The curly-haired witch started on another present, lazily directing its unwrapping.

The chaperone paused from her own work and gave her a sharp look. “Are you serious? You are! Hermione, last night at dinner the three of you were a  _ study  _ in group intimacy. Lucius was feeding you suggestively, Draco’s hands were everywhere, and you were draped across them both.”

Hermione had the grace to blush. “You saw that, did you?”

“Of course I did. What I want to know is, if you were so comfortable last night, why are you nervous about tonight?”

“Because you were there! Tonight I’ll be alone with them, and I’m not sure what they’ll expect. What am I supposed to do?” An unbidden image sprang to mind of entering the magic ring only to find her wizards already naked, asking her to strip down and perform oral sex for them. She shook her head forcibly.  _ That’s ridiculous. Lucius and Draco would never, ever . . . OH. _ In that moment her brain and emotions aligned. “You’re right. They would never want me to feel awkward. They love me.”

Her friend’s expression was mildly incredulous. “Are you sure you’re the one they call the brightest witch of the age? I would have thought that was obvious.”

“Yes, well even incredibly smart people can panic.” She steered the conversation away from herself quickly. “Charlie works on a dragon reserve in Romania, and Percy is a Ministry of Magic employee. The twins own their own business – Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

That seemed to do the trick, and for a few minutes the two witches worked through more packages and talked about Hermione’s second family. Fleur seemed to have a hard time believing anyone could think of Bill and Charlie as brothers, but Hermione was adamant. “They’re brothers to me – loud, slovenly, sweaty, and irritating.” When she saw Fleur get derailed at the word ‘sweaty’, she added, “Let me guess – Charlie had his shirt off when you saw him.”

Fleur gave a small, self-conscious smile and nodded. “How long does it take to cast a stake, do you think? They left at noon and it’s four now. Will they go to see my father today? Oh, no – my father.” Her face crumpled. 

“What does he have to do with it – you’re twenty-three years old! Can’t you speak for yourself?” Hermione couldn’t imagine why a full-grown witch wouldn’t be able to grant the stake precedence for herself, but Fleur’s horrified expression set her straight. “Apparently not.”

When Hermione motioned for her friend to continue, the blonde explained, “He’s overprotective, to say the least. He wouldn’t even permit me to attend the Triwizard Tournament when I was at Beauxbatons! He’ll want to see what they’re made of – probably try to scare them off. If that doesn’t work, he’ll want to see all their financial records, proof of employment, and-“

Hermione interrupted at that point. “Triwizard Tournament? Why couldn’t you attend?”

Her question was met with another roll of the eyes. “Father got some Owl from an old acquaintance advising him to keep me far away from Hogwarts for the time being. I would have loved a chance to compete.”

Hermione could easily picture a levelheaded, competent Fleur solving the puzzles and facing the dangers of that event, and said as much to her. “Perhaps there was a reason, and it will all make sense in time.” She couldn’t shake the feeling that Professor Dumbledore may already have been dabbling in Fleur’s affairs at that point.  _ I wonder if Monsieur Delacour considers the Headmaster an old acquaintance . . . _ With that thought in mind, she said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if your father finds the Weasley men charming.”  _ Or at least completely overwhelming _ . “Bill is a deadly wizard on any given day, and it’s nearly the full moon right now – nothing will scare him off. Charlie’s a man’s man – you know, the sort who can talk to anyone and end up making a new friend.”  _ He knows more dirty jokes than any wizard I know. _ “Percy excels at record keeping, and he’ll probably bring every pertinent scroll with him.”  _ If your father likes self-important suck-ups, he’ll adore Percy. _ “And the twins – well, hopefully the other three get in a good word first. They’re, ummmm . . . very special.” She saw that her friend was listening raptly, so she concluded encouragingly, “And don’t forget – you’re their Bespoken one. They’re not going to take no for an answer.”

Fleur nodded hopefully and turned her attention to the last few presents. When they had been unwrapped and their contents laid to rest on the bed, she concluded, “I can’t worry about what I can’t change. Still, if I am offered the Weasley stake, I will accept it without hesitation. I know in my heart this was meant to be.”

At that moment there was a knock on the door and it was opened. A loud, happy voice called out, “Yoo-hoo! Where are two of my favorite witches?” And in popped Molly.

For the first time in a long while, the young witch was very glad to spend some time with the bossy Weasley matriarch. For one thing, there was no meal for her to manipulate Hermione into overeating, and for another Minerva was not in attendance. Also, she was already compiling a list of questions about the rune ceremony, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley men. She attacked immediately.

“Molly, I’m so glad to see you! Come in – we just finished opening my trousseau. Would you like to look through it with me?” She estimated the number of questions she had and compared it to the stack of clothing on the bed, determining a rough pace for her interrogation. Then she quickly prioritized the information she wanted and began.

Predictably, Molly’s eyes welled up with tears of gratitude. “Oh, sweetheart – I’d love to!” Without looking directly at Fleur, she grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her toward the bed. “Come, Fleur – let’s sit. That’s right, sit down with me and let’s watch our lovely bride-to-be show us everything!” The two sank down amidst the piles of garments, and Hermione began.

“While we’re at it, we can pick out what I’m going to wear to my ceremony tonight.” When Molly didn’t say anything, Hermione deduced that Lucius had explained the change of plans to her.  _ I wonder if he warned her not to set me off -- perhaps she’ll keep things tame! _ It seemed too much to hope for.

The curly-haired witch held up a butter-colored dress made of heavy silk cut very much like the first dress her wizards had ever given her. The only difference was that this one had a daring neckline that looked as though it would drape low, exposing much of her chest. “Ladies, I give you dress number one.” Hermione held it against her torso and spun playfully. “What do you think?”

“Oh, it’s lovely! Perhaps not exactly the message you want to send, though?” At Hermione’s questioning expression, Molly added, “Lucius talked to me at length about your worries, dear. I hope you’ll forgive me for adding to them. It’s difficult for me not to jump ahead as though you’d been taught all of this.” She rubbed her hands together in a determined fashion. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

As they worked their way through the large pile, Hermione slowly primed Molly for pumping. She began with a general question that should have been asked over a week ago. “What did your mother tell you about Bespoke Witches when you were young?”

The older witch smiled reminiscently. “From the time Pure-blood witches are little, they are prepared for the possibility of being a Bespoke Witch. It’s every girl’s dream. Mothers begin by telling the stories of famous House Wives throughout wizarding history. I understand many Muggle fairy tales are based on these! They tell their daughters to remain true to the hope, which is a very old-fashioned way of saying to save their first kiss and keep their knickers on.” While she was speaking, Molly was rifling through the garments nearest to her. She held up several tiny sheer slips. “This lingerie is  _ very _ nice. Just look at the lace detail!”

Hermione pushed past her initial desire to change the subject. “It is. I like the violet one. But go on with what you were saying, Molly.”

“Where were we? Oh, yes. By the time Pure-blood witches leave for school they know the basics – stake casting, consideration, acceptance, and sometimes even the traditional rules of a courtship. It isn’t talked about openly outside of the home, of course. The rest is usually left unspoken until a stake is cast. No sense cluttering a young witch’s mind with knowledge she may not need. Of course, at some point she’ll be told, regardless of her status, so that she can pass on the knowledge to her own daughters. When I realized Ginny wouldn’t be a house Wife, I began teaching her the rest.”

“When do they find out about runes and rings?”

Molly shook out a robe of pale blue silk satin, dividing her attention between the garment and the question. “This color will compliment your hair and eyes beautifully. Well, obviously they’ve seen their own mother’s at some point, dear!” She turned to Fleur. “When did you learn?”

The beautiful Frenchwoman was admiring a pair of elegant heels. “My mother’s rune is set in a traditional ring. I remember as a young child being fascinated by its outline under her formal apparel, and she explained it to me then.”

Hermione looked at Molly contemplatively. “I decided I wanted a ring after I saw the Malfoy runes. It felt right.”

“That’s lovely, sweetheart!  _ Very _ traditional. I chose to have my skin marked instead, and although I’ve never regretted my decision, I must admit to the teensiest bit of jealousy whenever I see a House Wife with a ring.”

That made Hermione forget about the seal brown velvet traveling cloak in her hands. It fell to her feet with a thick, heavy sound as she asked warily, “How many House Wives have shown you their rings?”  _ And what kind of social situation calls for that? _

Molly paused in confusion and then burst out laughing, waving the young witch’s concern away with a sweep of her hands. “Oh, no – we Wives don’t go about topless, if that’s what you’re thinking. And other than a few Ravenclaws who enjoy exhibitionism, I’ve never actually seen a ring. What I meant was that they’re often visible under fine fabrics – as Fleur said about her mother.”

“Thank Merlin! Errrrr, you know what I mean.”

The three witches set about sorting the items by type in unspoken agreement. Lingerie was tossed Molly’s way; shoes, outerwear, accessories and even the odd book went to Fleur; and Hermione continued to dig through the gowns for something perfect to wear to the rune ceremony. There were dozens, and for the most part they were long, flowing, and made of exquisite silks – chiffon, Dupioni, taffeta, charmeuse . . . eventually she gave up cataloging the myriad types. 

Hermione decided not to push her luck regarding Molly’s heretofore omission of rune ceremony personal anecdotes.  _ I think it’s time to move on to the next query. Not that there’ll ever be an appropriate time to bring up her youngest son.  _ “Molly,” She began quietly, holding up a frothy, strapless coral dress and quickly moving on to the next, “How is Ron?”

The older witch gasped quietly, shooting a scandalized look around the room. “You mustn’t mention his name!” When Hermione opened her mouth to respond, Molly said in a warning tone, “Do  _ not _ . He has been  _ weeded _ .” The look on her face was similar to the one Fleur had worn earlier while talking about the same subject.

_ But I’m not going to find out unless I ask! I need to know!  _ “Please, Molly! I don’t even know what  _ not _ to ask or say – explain it to me the way you would to a small child.”

Molly thought for several long moments and finally said in a hesitant manner, “Very well.” She went back to organizing the gifts. “If you were much younger, I would simply say that he is gone forever. As you grew older I would be forced to clarify – this is no different. Hermione, you must understand that this is the way of the old Houses. When . . .” She seemed to be grasping for the right words. “When a covenant recognizes that one of its wizards is deficient in some way, it withdraws its power – sometimes immediately, but mostly in a protracted way, almost as though it’s giving the wizard an opportunity to change his ways and prove it wrong.” She looked around the room again furtively and nearly whispered, “These things are  _ never _ talked about outside of one’s family.”

Hermione nodded in understanding but pressed on. “You’re saying  _ he _ might have been identified as weak, and your covenant pulled away from  _ him _ ? Is that why he was such a—errrrr, sorry.” She finished awkwardly.

“He was always the weakest of the six, making poor choices and focused on the superficial – wealth and status, mainly. When he deserted you and Harry during the hunt for the Horcruxes,” Here Molly clutched at her chest and was visibly upset, “I  _ knew _ . I knew, but I still hoped it wouldn’t come to pass. Then it continued to get worse after the war – his philandering, his poor treatment of you, and all those secretive trips he took last summer. Not that they’re much of a mystery any more. Arthur spoke to him  _ numerous _ times, as did the other boys, but he refused to see the fault in himself. The Weasley covenant found him deficient, and now he has been weeded and will be struck from the family tree. He has no place, no inheritance, and no name.”

“So you’ll never see him again?”

“When he’s done at St. Mungo’s, he’ll be transported to his permanent residence under guard. Lucius was very kind to make such arrangements for him; I know he did this on my behalf. He will be well looked after, and unable to harm anyone again.” She added as an afterthought, “Even if he weren’t afflicted with VMV, he would never be admitted into Pure-blood society again.”

“That seems rather drastic, don’t you think? I mean, yes – he was perfectly awful these past two years, but he isn’t a murderer! Why can’t we say his name?”

Fleur spoke up. “It’s because to us he no longer has a name. Our families are ancient, and our traditions are absolute. In order for us to prosper in future generations, we adhere to the rulings of our covenants. It is widely accepted that the birthrate of squibs is directly linked to the progeny of weeded wizards. Now imagine an ancient House brought to its knees by a single generation devoid of magic! It would be the end of that House.”

Hermione asked, “But if they’ve been weeded, how is it they’re having children at all? And why haven’t I heard anything about this correlation between squibs and . . . errrrr,  _ you know _ ?” She sent an uncomfortable glance Molly’s way and picked up a black gown, absentmindedly holding it up to her torso without giving it more than a perfunctory glance.

The motherly witch explained, “Wizards who are weeded aren’t shunned throughout the wizarding world. They are free to make their own fortunes, to marry, and to begin families. The Ministry doesn’t make official record of weedings, although emphasis should be placed on the word  _ official _ .”

“So it’s been recording them and collecting the data?  _ Fascinating _ .” Hermione gave a few seconds of thought to that research opportunity before returning to the conversation at hand. “But he’s your son! How can you just—“

She was interrupted by Molly, who said firmly, “He is no longer my son, Hermione.”

“How do you feel about that?” The young witch passed a large velvet box to Fleur distractedly, who peeked inside to determine its contents.

The blonde witch shook her head in sympathy. “You won’t understand until you’ve been part of this culture for some time. This is how it’s done.” She scrutinized the gown Hermione was still holding up. “Not that one.”

Molly added, “It wasn’t a sudden thing.  _ He _ was clearly headed toward this for quite a while, and our entire family knew it. We’ve had ample time to accept this, as well as the comfort of our covenant.”

“Does this happen often? Weedings, I mean.”

Molly’s eyebrows hiked up her forehead. “No! There hasn’t been one in the House of Weasley in generations, and  _ never _ in Arthur’s direct male line. The  _ Blacks _ had more than their share of them – it’s no wonder that House is gone forever. But that’s a topic for another time.” 

Hermione blinked several times, trying to determine how honest it would be appropriate to be with her motherly friend. Finally she said bluntly, “I can’t decide if I’m horrified that you’re so matter of fact about this whole subject or relieved that you’re not grieving. And I feel guilty because even though I’ve just found out R- errrrr,  _ he’s _ been disowned by his family, I’m positively giddy about all the studying I have to do now. He and Harry were my only real friends for a long time, and I’ll miss the way he used to be.” She lifted the next dress from the pile, struck by the significance of its bottle-green color.  _ That’s the same shade I wore to the Slytherin party. _

“Find time to process and grieve, but don’t do it now. As far as my own feelings, the heartache was over and done with when he endangered you and insulted Lucius and Draco in such a way. There’s a reason these things aren’t talked about, Hermione. Now that you’ve taken the edge off your curiosity, let’s talk about something else.” As if to prove that she would brook no argument, she turned to the chaperone. “Fleur, dear, I talked with Arthur by Floo just before I came up here. We agreed it would be alright to tell you . . .”

The voices around her faded as Hermione twirled around several times, wrapped up in thought. As her brain whirred and processed, the bare skin of her lower legs registered the cool, silky waterfall of fabric moving fluidly with her.

Molly paused mid-sentence with a pair of silk stockings in her hand, distracted by Hermione’s movement. “I like that one.” 

Hermione was jolted from her pensive mood and looked down at the gown she was holding. She lifted it up, admiring the way the color shifted subtly from deep green to black in the light. It was simple and elegant, like every other dress in the pile, but there was something  _ different _ about it.  _ It’s the color – it’s Slytherin green. _ Fleur agreed in her bossy, sisterly way. “That’s the one you’ll wear.” She was rounded the far side of the bed and walked briskly toward the curly-haired witch with arms outstretched. “Give it to me and go get in the tub.”


	58. Wednesday Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do I love thee? Let me count the words . . . 9,278, to be exact. Yes, I'm keeping uploads on the smallish side for now, but I plan to update at least twice weekly moving forward. Thank you for your kind notes and kudos for my big silly baby! Mwah
> 
> -G

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Wednesday Evening

Hermione tried to enjoy her soak in the immense tub of bubbles and fragrant, oiled water, but every time her eyes slid shut in relaxation her brain would whir to life. It didn’t help that Fleur and Molly were chatting incessantly about what the Weasley men had been up to that afternoon.  _ I need peace and quiet! _ However, the quickly (and apologetically) cast Muffliato did nothing but amplify her own racing thoughts, which touched on everything and focused on nothing.  _ Will I be able to feel the magic of the rune? I wonder what the vows will be like for this ceremony. I wonder what Lucius and Draco are doing right now. Probably getting ready, just like me. Are they nervous as well? Tonight the rules change. Merlin above, how does one touch a man the correct way? Is there only one correct way, and is there a dignified way to ask what it is?  _ She realized Molly was attempting to include her in the conversation and tried to clear her mind, glancing towards the other two witches. “Errrrr, what was that?”

Fleur said in an equally distracted way, “She wants to wash your hair.”

Hermione started to protest, but one look at her mother figure’s hopeful expression and the argument died in her throat. Nearly. “Oh, very well - just this once. But I am  _ not _ five. I’m perfectly capable of bathing on my- blublublub!” She was suddenly dunked without any sort of warning in the bathwater and came up spluttering.

Molly lathered her mop of curls briskly. “Have you heard even one word I’ve said? The boys cast a unanimous stake at the Ministry this afternoon and sent it to the Delacour residence straightaway! And they’ve received confirmation of its delivery! Isn’t that exciting, sweetheart?”

Hermione was too busy spitting soapy water out of her mouth to answer. It occurred to her that the only other person to call her by that moniker was Draco, and  _ he _ would most certainly  _ never _ do such a thing to her.  _ That’s because he doesn’t think I’m five!  _ An image of him sharing the tub with her came to mind and she shivered.  _ And he’s definitely not five, either. _ For a few brief seconds her anxieties about the impending ceremony melted away at the thought of her young wizard, dripping wet and gazing at her from across the large tub with desire. Then her brain kicked back in to high gear, and she remembered that he’d be naked beneath the bubbles and she’d have no personal knowledge of what to do with that one crucial piece of anatomy - other than what she’d heard whispered in the Gryffindor commons.  _ Huh. That’s the one thing I never caught Ginny doing to Harry. _ She pushed that particular thought away quickly, lest it lead to what she  _ had _ caught them doing, and returned to the one of bathing Draco.  _ Of course, I’d be so distracted by his beautiful body I might not mind being dunked at all.  _ She wiped the bubbles from the rest of her face and returned to the present. Fleur had a worried look on her lovely face. “Now it’s up to my father to give it precedence and offer it to me. I wonder if he knows I’ve met them already. I hope he’ll send an Owl tonight.”

The Frenchwoman was understandably nervous, but as Hermione was quick to point out reassuringly there had probably never been such a serendipitous set of circumstances. Wasn’t proof of this with them this very night? Fleur’s future mother-in-law was not only in the same room, but obviously open to talking about her sons! This encouragement seemed to bolster the blonde witch’s morale, however Hermione’s thoughts had wandered down another side path involving Lucius. She was only vaguely aware of Molly’s fingers massaging her scalp and the pitchers of rinse-water poured carefully away from her face.

  
  


In her mind’s eye he took up residence in the tub space previously occupied by imaginary Draco, and she saw him sprawled in bare-chested splendor, arms spread and draped along the tub surround in his graceful, arrogant way.  _ Sweet Circe, I want to bathe with Lucius. _ As in real life, imaginary Lucius was less than cooperative, although Hermione's logic piped up from some recess of her brain, this was most likely because he was a subconscious manifestation of her anxieties. The image warped into one of him beckoning her across the tub with one crooked finger. His other hand had slipped below the water and was obviously moving up and down along his shaft, and he was looking at her expectantly . . . Hermione cleared the thought with a physical shake of her head.  _ Great -- a few days ago I would have enjoyed that fantasy! Now all I can focus on is the fact that I’m not ready to be found completely lacking by Lucius and Draco. I will - I’ll be completely lacking. _ At that moment the covenant made its presence known, giving the abstract equivalent of a chuckle within her consciousness.

It was in this overall state of distraction that she continued her preparations for the rune ceremony, and it made Molly’s domineering supervision much more tolerable. Hermione drew the line at allowing the motherly witch to do anything other than chatting and directing, though. She still had water in her ears from the dunking.

Molly kept up a reassuring prattle of Weasley boys anecdotes and answered Fleur’s constant questions as Hermione continued her internal struggle between worry and self-reassurance. When the clock struck six, the older witch sent a robe whizzing toward the curly-haired witch with a wave of her wand and then herded her charges into the large dressing room. “Alright you two, enough introspection. I can hear the gears in each of your heads turning from here.” She looked at the chaperone. “Fleur, we need to see that you’re fed. Goodness knows you won’t get anything while you’re standing guard. Trinket!”

The house elf Apparated with an energetic crack and happily agreed to bring a tray for the chaperone. Then Molly pushed Hermione down to sit at the large dressing table and began squeezing the excess water out of her hair. “I expect you’re the expert on drying these lovely curls - I wouldn’t know where to begin. Why don’t you get started, and I’ll steam your gown?” She patted the curly-haired witch’s shoulder and began directing steam from the tip of her wand over the beautiful bottle-green dress, which hung in pride of place near the dressing table. “Just think, my dear! In two days you’ll be wedded to the two most eligible bachelors in the wizarding world. The news will be published in every wizarding periodical, and witches all over the globe will be crying into their Butterbeer over it!”

Hermione winced. “Please, Molly - let’s take one step at a time.”

They heard Trinket Apparate into the outer room, and Fleur glanced over at Hermione. “Leave the door open, and remember you’ll need to leave time for us to cross this house. Unless you  _ want _ to Side Along.” She floated from the dressing room with one of her large, veiled hats under one arm.

Molly patted her shoulder yet again and returned to their conversation. “You have nothing to worry about, but if it makes you feel any better I was a nervous wreck before my binding and rune ceremonies. And I  _ knew _ my wizards!” She stopped steaming the dress and pressed a motherly kiss to the top of the curly-haired witch’s wet head. “Stop worrying about what you don’t know, and focus on what you do. For instance, think about their faces, and the way they treat you with such courtesy. I’m sure you’ll find that the more you keep your head full of happy thoughts, the less those troublesome worries will bother you.”

_ She’s absolutely right. _ Hermione reached out for the magical essence that seemed always to be curled around the perimeter of her awareness.  _ Please help me as you have in the past.  _ Meanwhile, she spied a bottle of her Sleek-Eazy peeking out from a half-opened drawer of the dressing table and applied a liberal dose to her hair. She began wand-drying it as she purposefully filled her mind with images and thoughts of her wizards. She visualized Lucius bowing over her hand and allowing his lips to just barely linger on the dragon handmark, then the electricity of her first innocent kiss from Draco. Her body responded to those memories and many more came to mind instantly. 

She could feel the covenant purr with contentment within her. Whether it was helping with her recollection or not, Hermione felt an overwhelming gratitude for the presence of the ancient magic.  _ Thank you. Thank you for being with me. _ The singular fragrance of the war stake and her wizards washed over her, as did the silky purr of Lucius’ voice and Draco’s husky laugh, and suddenly Hermione knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was ready for whatever awaited her within the private circle of her rune ceremony.  _ It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t know right this moment. _

Her mind returned to the dressing room and she realized she’d finished her hair some time ago and had been staring into space for several minutes. Molly was watching her with a pleased smile. “ _ There’s _ my girl! I saw the difference in your eyes just a bit ago.” She ran a hand gently over the chestnut curls that cascaded down over Hermione’s robed back. “You have the most extraordinary hair, sweetheart. All three of my girls do.” 

Her expression became pensive for a moment, and it was such a change from the happy look of a moment before that the young witch couldn’t help but notice. “What’s wrong, Molly?”

“Oh! Nothing, nothing at all.” When Hermione narrowed her eyes in skepticism, the redhead answered honestly, “I can’t help but wonder who will be chosen by Fleur. At the very least, two of my boys will be left to wait for another Bespoke Witch. Whoever is left will have to begin again, and there’s no telling how long it could take.”

It was Hermione’s turn to offer comfort. “Just think how she turned up out of thin air, Molly. It wasn’t a coincidence. I feel sure that whatever plan produced Fleur has taken all your boys into account.”  _ Oh, dear Circe, I sound as illogical as Sybill Trelawney. _ Still, the shocking revelation didn’t shake her belief in what she’d just said.  _ It will all work out the way it was meant to be. _ With a small grin she threw the motherly witch’s own words back at her. “Stop worrying about what you don’t know, and focus on what you do!”

Molly's eyes welled up with tears, and she pressed one hand to her chest. “ _ Thank you _ ,” she whispered, nodding in understanding. She seemed to gather her wits quickly and redirected their focus to the task at hand, routing through the dressing table drawers. “Perhaps the teensiest bit of makeup. Shall I do it for you, or would you prefer to do that yourself?”

“Errrrr, if you don’t mind I’ll do it myself.” When Molly appeared compliant with that choice, Hermione used a few of the beauty charms she’d memorized from Ginny’s book to highlight what she considered to be her nicest features. At the last minute she remembered the deep color of the dress and added a layer of shimmering shadow to her eyes and then outlined them lightly in a darker shade. She looked in the mirror appraisingly and decided she liked what she saw.

Molly did too, apparently. “That’s perfect.” She shook her head with a smile. “I have a feeling Lucius and Draco find your sexy innocence to be a constant source of tented trousers.”

“ _ Molly _ !” Hermione didn’t know whether to be traumatized or amused by her mother figure’s statement and finally decided to settle on the latter. She snorted indelicately. “I can’t believe you said that.”

The older witch was unrepentant. “Eventually you’ll realize what an excellent source of information I can be, and you’ll come running. Until then, laugh all you want. I’m right about what I said - mark my words. Just a bit more gloss on your lips, I think.” 

After that it was just a matter of slipping into her deep green bra and knickers set and stepping into the gorgeous gown. Molly helped zip her up and made the universal hand gesture for  _ ‘give us a twirl’ _ . Hermione complied, loving the feeling of the cool, heavy silk moving against the bare skin of her legs like river-water. She hugged the older witch fiercely. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything _.” _

“Oh, we’re not done by a long shot. I might have finished my task for this evening, but I’ll be here regularly until the wedding, and I expect to be allowed the mother’s privilege of helping you get ready for it.” Molly raised her eyebrows at Hermione meaningfully, and the young witch nodded with a face-splitting smile. “Good, now off you go! Oh, and Hermione,” she called out as the curly-haired witch nearly skipped toward the door, “have _ fun _ tonight!”

She found Fleur mooning out on the balcony and paused before interrupting the daydream.  _ This is just getting ridiculous. What kind of self-respecting witch behaves like that! _ The covenant gave an amused twitch and Hermione was instantly reminded of the many class hours she’d spent in the past two weeks doing exactly the same thing. _ Huh. I guess I was too preoccupied to notice. _ It occurred to her that she had no grounds for impatience with her friend, so she said rather kindly, “Fleur, if you don’t mind I’d like to head to the library now.” When the blonde witch didn’t seem to hear her, she repeated in a slightly sharper tone, “Now!” That seemed to do the trick, and within moments they were on their way to the site of the rune ceremony.

The two witches walked in relative silence as they made their way through the manor, and Hermione envisioned the spaces they passed occupied by herself and her wizards. As they walked along the gallery above the ballroom, her mind’s eye supplied several evocative images: one of the three of them descending the sweeping staircase at the end of the enormous room, Hermione wrapped in the arms of her wizards; another of them moving through a crowd of guests together; the last dancing together. The scenes were so clear it was obvious that they had been supplied by the covenant. Above the enormous dance floor, the light of the dazzling chandeliers created a romantic atmosphere that only aided the influence of the family magic within Hermione. She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as a delicious shiver of anticipation rippled through her. Impulsively she tugged on her chaperone’s hand. “Let’s go!”

Hermione dragged a protesting Fleur toward the library at an accelerated pace. Suddenly she found that her fears had been replaced with a need to see Lucius and Draco as soon as possible. With this desire came a sense of confidence that she hadn’t felt outside of academia in a long time, as well as a rush of exhilaration.  _ I’m done healing. I’m ready to ride a Ukrainian Ironbelly again _ .  _ Metaphorically speaking, of course. _ They came hurtling around the last corner, only for Hermione to step on the hem of her gown and pitch forward gracelessly.  _ Oh, honestly! How times must I- _ \- The thought was arrested as a pair of large arms caught her mid-fall, and a sense of  [ Déjà vu ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A9j%C3%A0_vu) settled over her.

This time it was Draco who had rescued her. She grinned up at him. “Thank you, kind sir.” Then, catching sight of her chaperone she added teasingly, “You have got to be the  _ worst _ chaperone ever. This gown attacked me right in front of you, and you did  _ nothing _ !” Fleur’s mouth twitched slightly and she rolled her eyes as if saying  _ ‘let’s get on with this, shall we?’ _ and Hermione turned back to her handsome blond wizard.

He treated her to one of his almost-smiles. “My pleasure, Miss Granger. You seem to be in a hurry. Are you running away?” His eyes regarded her with a mixture of playfulness and genuine concern.

Hermione reached up and tapped his nose gently. “I’ve decided that it’s time to take the dragon by the tail.” Draco’s eyebrows shot up. Her brain caught up to her mouth, and she blushed at her choice of words. She struggled out of his arms and stood on her own feet, catching his hands in her own. “Errrrr, you know what I mean. I feel more like myself right now than I have in a very long while. So watch out, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco’s smile, which had never quite left his face, broadened until he was beaming down at her. “That’s very good to hear, Miss Granger. I’ll take extra precautions when dealing with you from now on.” They laughed quietly together, and Hermione stepped close enough that she could lean her head against his broad chest. He spoke into her curls, and she felt the vibration of his chest in her own body. “Are you ready?”

Hermione nodded as she glanced up at her wizard. She replied in a soft but firm voice. “Yes.” Stepping back, she tugged at his hands, which were still laced with her own. “Let’s go find Lucius and mark me as a Malfoy House Wife.”

She found no argument from Draco, who used her own grip on his hands to pull her tightly against his torso. He leaned down and murmured in her ear. “I’ll give you a two second head start.” And when she looked up at him in confusion, added with a cocky smirk, “ _ Run _ .”

Hermione jumped back immediately and ascertained with one quick glance that he was indeed serious. She gaped momentarily, then wrenched her hands from his and spun on her heel toward the library doors. She took off running, the long skirt of her dress held up in handfuls, but was swept into the air just as she reached toward the handle of one huge door. Hermione found herself hanging upside down over one of his shoulders inelegantly. “ _ Draco _ ,” She shrieked laughingly, “Put me down this instant!”

She tried to raise her head to watch more easily as Draco apparently opened the library doors with a small hand gesture.  _ Both he and Lucius know wandless magic? _ Their forward progress was halted as he paused to let Fleur pass through first, and then they followed. Draco’s tone was smug. “Oh no, little witch. I’ve been lying in wait for years, and now you’ve just offered yourself up to me on a platter. I’m going to carry you off to my lair, where I’ll seal the rune of my family to your lovely breast, and then I’ll keep you there forever as my prize. What do you have to say to that?” He was walking into the library now, moving with purpose toward the center of the vast room with their chaperone keeping pace by his side. Hermione was forced to divide her attention between the graceful movement of his long legs and his exquisite scent, which emanated from under his crisp white linen shirt.

He had never been so overtly playful, and the young witch was delighted.  _ He’s like a young Lucius, except that he’s his own person altogether.  _ She slapped her hands against his lower back and buttocks, pausing to admire the taut muscling there. “I say you’re acting like a caveman!” At those words, her mind flew back to a conversation with Minerva nearly two weeks ago now.  _ I can’t believe I found the idea of this scenario alarming. I was so naïve!  _ She wriggled in an attempt to reach her wand, which was hidden in the side seam of her gown, but Draco simply grabbed her hand and held it. She giggled. “Draco Hyperion Malfoy, I swear I’ll hex you!”

They had reached the comfortable leather couches in the center of the ground floor level and stopped abruptly when another set of long legs came into view. “Good evening. Mademoiselle Delacour, I trust that you are well?” Lucius’ silky baritone sent a shiver along Hermione’s spine.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. I’m well. I’ve brought your fiancée, and it seems that Draco has something for you, too.” Fleur sounded amused. “I’ll head up to the site now and prepare for my vigil.”

“Look what I’ve caught, Lucius.” Draco spun slowly, and Hermione slapped him again in playful protest.

For a few seconds the only sound was the tapping of Fleur’s shoes on the stone steps as she climbed the winding staircase to the third floor. Anticipation built within Hermione until the elder Malfoy responded in an appraising tone. “Is this the one for whom we’ve waited?”

“She is, and she came to me willingly.” She squirmed again in Draco’s arms as he spoke, less in an attempt to get away than in pleasure at their game.

Lucius bent down to her level, his eyes twinkling like pale blue stars. “Hello, my prize.” Lucius laid a cautionary hand on her hip, where it curved over Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t even think about running away. There are two of us now, and we mean to keep you. Will you be a good girl?” The thumb of his other hand brushed back and forth across her lips.

Hermione’s mouth opened of its own accord and nipped at the tempting digit. “Put me down so that we can discuss the terms of my captivity.” She was gently lowered to stand between them, supported by two sets of strong arms as she regained her balance. Still red-faced from hanging upside down she answered, “That’s better. Shall we parley?”

Lucius was regarding her with a contented, amused expression. “Indeed. What are the terms of your surrender?”

She smoothed down her gown with one hand and blew a few stray curls from her eyes, all the while managing to keep a straight face. “I require a meal before we negotiate. Surely you have sustenance?”

Draco smiled beatifically. “Of course.”

“And I may leave at any time if I so choose?” It was difficult to keep from smiling back at the two of them.

“I think you will find that our company is quite enjoyable, but we won’t keep you against your will.” Lucius grinned wolfishly. “Not right away, at least.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Very well, let’s talk after we eat. Gentleman?” Hermione looked back and forth between them expectantly and realized that her anxieties, while still hovering in the back of her mind, were being held in balance by the light mood established by her wizards.  _ This could be an awful lot of fun.  _ She extended a hand to each.

Lucius took her left hand, pressed a lingering kiss to it, and then tucked it under his arm. He laid his own large, cool hand over it and looked down at her with laughing eyes. Meanwhile Draco had taken up his place at her right side, wrapping his left arm around her waist and holding her free hand against his stomach with his right. They’d walked in this tangle of limbs previously, and Hermione was struck again by the rightness of it. She glanced up at each of them expectantly. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’ve prepared a site for our negotiations.” Draco was attempting to maintain an earnest expression but failing. His lips kept twitching, and there was a gleam in his eye. “It’s guarded and warded.”

“I’m to be held under guard?”

Lucius raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “With a prize as rare and valuable as you, surely you understand the need for security.”

“Alright. Take me to this site.” She added in a warning tone, “But no funny business.”

The Malfoy men guided her towards the sweeping staircase, and she paused at the first step, apologetically withdrawing her hands from theirs to gather up the long skirt of her gown. They climbed the steps slowly and quietly at first, and Hermione’s eyes wandered over the wonder that was the Malfoy library.  _ Draco was right - even if I hadn’t accepted the Malfoy stake right away, I would have the moment I’d seen this place. _ She felt Lucius’ hand settle slightly lower than the small of her back and murmured, “Mr. Malfoy, your aim seems to be off.” He chuckled and slid his hand even lower so that it curved over her arse, and she burst out laughing, swatting his hand away.

They reached the third floor. It was now lit only by the moon, the silvery light of which streamed through the domed glass ceiling. Hermione caught a glimpse of Fleur at the far side and let her gown fall with a heavy swish to cover her ankles and feet. She turned to Draco first. “Is that your guard over there? She doesn’t look very formidable.”

He took her by the hand again and began leading her along the balustrade that circled the open center of the library. “Don’t let her looks fool you.” 

As they approached the site, Hermione saw that the area had changed. So, too, had Fleur - she seemed to have reverted to her former distant, glacial lack of personality. The chaperone stepped forward and raised her hand in a commanding gesture. “Who approaches this site of ancient magic?”

Lucius spoke from behind Hermione, his hand resting on her shoulder. “We are the House of Malfoy, and this is our Bespoken one.”

Fleur looked them over carefully before turning to the curly-haired witch. “Do you come here willingly, Bespoke Witch?”

Hermione amended her initial assessment of Fleur’s attitude change.  _ She’s playing a part right now – this is part of the ceremony. _ “Yes.” Obviously the rune ceremony contained a ritualistic script for the wizards and the chaperone.

“Do you agree to bear the mark of this House as evidence of your binding vows?”

Another shiver of anticipation ran through Hermione. “Yes.” She watched Draco and Lucius each hand the blonde witch some small item. “What’s that?”

All three of them gave her a blank look and then Lucius trained a withering look at Draco. He hissed, “I thought you said you walked her through the ceremony.”

Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, but he recovered quickly. “You told me much the same thing.”

They regarded each other accusingly for a second before reaching some silent agreement. Lucius turned to her and explained in a pained voice, “Silver and gold. May we continue?” At her nod, he said to Fleur, “Will you stand guard over this site?”

“I will.”

Draco added, “And will you keep all intruders and interlopers at bay?”

“I will.”

_ Oh, for the love of magic! Let’s just enter the damned site! _ She breathed an inner sigh of relief when Lucius raised his wand hand and temporarily dropped the wards so they could enter and gestured for her and Draco to pass through. He followed, his hand still on Hermione’s shoulder.

The young witch did a double take as she stepped into the enchanted ring. It looked nothing like it had from the outside - in fact, it looked exactly like the spot in Lucius’ study where they’d had dinner the night before. There were the same two couches, with the low table between them spread with a cloth and covered trays. On the carpeted floor were the same large cushions they had used for seating. A fire crackled brightly in the hearth of a familiar looking fireplace and warmed the site. Hermione looked between her two wizards in pleased surprise.

Lucius’ fingers tightened briefly around her shoulder, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “I apologize that you were so ill-prepared for that exchange. It would appear that Draco and I have been remiss in our duties.”

She curled an arm around his neck, pulling him down for a sweet kiss. “Why Lucius, have I been distracting you?”

“I think I speak for both of us when I say that you make me forget my own name on a regular basis.” Draco was wearing her favorite of his subtle expressions - the unique blend of solemn and happy that made his handsome face almost glow. 

_ Mine.  _ Hermione reached out a hand and took hold of his shirt. She tugged firmly until he was standing right beside Lucius. “It’s Silly Snake,” she stage-whispered, pulling at him until he bent to meet her lips with his. Reluctant to end the moment, Hermione kept her arms wound around each of her wizards’ necks. They leaned their heads against the sides of hers with palpable contentment.

It was Draco who broke away first. “Shall we have dinner?” They both drew her toward the waiting dinner, but Hermione dug in her heels, struck by a sudden thought.

“Wait,” she protested. “We agreed to take a picture with the three of us while I still have my handmark!”

Draco continued pulling on her hand impatiently. “It won’t fade from eating. Come on, I’m starving.” He quickly amended that statement at her look of dismay. “Or we can take one right now. Lucius?”

The elder Malfoy produced a camera from behind one of the couches and uttered a quiet spell. The device rose into the air to hover, and he turned to Hermione. “The traditional way would be to take a photograph of our hands all together. Is that what you wish?” 

Hermione thought back to the picture they had taken of just the two of them. “I want one with just Draco, too.”

Draco seemed to know exactly what she was talking about, because he smirked and nodded. “I like that idea.”  _ He’s already seen that picture.  _ He moved so quickly that Hermione had no time to react. Dragging them in front of the camera, Draco bent her over his arm and leaned down to kiss her. He paused and looked over to Lucius. “Whenever you’re ready, old man.” Hermione just had time to grab onto his shoulder with her hand before he dipped her further and kissed her with abandon. The resulting photograph was every bit as pleasing as the one of her and Lucius. It showed her and Draco looking at each other with laughing eyes and happy smiles, her handmark prominently displayed where she held onto him. The ensuing kiss looked every bit as toe-curling as it had been, too. Hermione was able to talk Draco into a few more pictures of the three of them before he demanded to be fed.

They sat along one side of the long, low table. “What’s for dinner?” Lucius sank gracefully down on her left, and Draco on her right. She realized they seemed to gravitate toward those same sides whenever the three of them were together. “Is there a reason you’re always on my left, Lucius? And what was the point of the gold and silver you gave to Fleur?”

The younger Malfoy answered as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the meal. “My childhood favorite, yes, and tradition.” She narrowed her eyes until he expanded, “Dinner tonight is mélange.” He looked over the table and removed the lids from two of the trays, continuing, “Fruit, nuts, bread with cheese and honey, and consommé. Dessert is the best part. Where is it . . .” He looked under a few more lids. “Aha – trifle!” Draco swiped his finger through the top layer of cream and held it in front of her face with a grin on his face. “Trinket is a trifle genius. It’s even better now that I’m old enough for the brandied . . .” Hermione had leaned forward while he spoke and gently sucked the proffered digit into her mouth, swirling her tongue over it to collect the sweet, rich cream. Draco trailed off, eyes quickly glazing over.

It took the young witch a second to realize the various connotations of the act she’d just participated in, and then she smirked even as she blushed deeply.  _ Oops _ . She shot a sideways glance toward Lucius, to find him regarding her with a similarly heated gaze. A small curl of arousal wound around her gut at their reaction.  _ I should say something before this gets awkward. _ “You’re right,” she blurted, “That was delicious - I can’t wait for dessert.” Even to her ears that sounded like a double entendre.  _ Oh, for Circe’s sake, what is wrong with me! _ She gave a huff and slapped a hand over her face just as she heard Draco give a low groan. “Would one of you  _ please _ put me out of my misery!”

Lucius laughed out loud and put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her against him tightly and kissing the top of her head. “But your misery is so  _ entertaining _ , pet.” He seemed to take pity on her. “We should eat.” 

There were no plates, only small cups for the consommé, and so the three of them began eating from the serving trays. Hermione sipped broth and nibbled some bread, caught between intermittent hunger and the sensation of butterflies in her stomach. Lucius ate some of everything, and savored each bite in a sensual way that drew the young witch’s attention continuously. Draco, however, inhaled his food. It was as if he hadn’t eaten for days, the way he tore off chunk after chunk of baguette, swapping between stuffing the bread with cheese or dipping it repeatedly in the bowl of honey. He managed to make the process graceful somehow, and the young witch watched the movements of his hands and jaw with admiration.

“You never explained how it is you each have your own side of me, so to speak.”

Lucius had been alternating bites of fruit and cheese. He swallowed his mouthful. “There is no tradition there, if that’s what you’re asking. I favor my left hand, and Draco his right. It’s natural for us to gravitate toward the side where our dominant hand is always free.”

Hermione turned to him. “You’re left-handed? But I’ve seen you write with your right hand.”

“I can do most things well with both.” He grinned at her suddenly. “I look forward to showing you, lovely one.”

She snorted and leaned against his broad shoulder. “How is it that you can say things like that and they’re funny, and I just embarrass myself?”

“It’s all in the intention. Mine are meant to be inappropriate, while yours are unintentional. However, the only one who minds is you.” He wound his arm around her side, spreading his fingers so that they spanned from the underside of her small breast to the point of her hipbone. With his other hand, he offered her a bite of cheese and pear. “Do you like Grana Padano? This one is excellent.”

He was right, and she hummed appreciatively. She reached behind his head and drew his long queue of pale hair over his shoulder, twisting it around her fingers absently. “Why did you give Fleur silver and gold?”

Lucius was rubbing the underside of her breast with the back of his thumb, and although Hermione was sure it was an unconscious gesture, she felt her body respond with a flood of warmth in her gut. “Goblin’s silver is given for protection, and gold as payment. Both are purely symbolic now, of course.” He pushed a spiced walnut to her lips and she opened for it, darting her tongue out to lick the seasoning from his fingertips. The hand that had been wrapped around her side moved up over her breast, its thumb grazing her nipple. She arched into his touch.

Draco was still eating. Hermione watched in foggy fascination as a stream of the sticky amber liquid ran from the bread down Draco’s full lower lip and chin. Some of her most recent fantasies came to mind - the ones in which she had superimposed their images over memories of Harry's exploits with his girls - and for a brief second she imagined straddling Draco’s lap and licking pudding from his face, then kneeling under the table with her head between his legs. She came back to the present just as he raised a napkin to wipe it off. Hermione managed to choke, “Stop.”

  
  


_ I’m going to lick that off his face.  _ It was déjà vu, only somehow reversed.  _ This is how Lucius must have felt last Saturday morning.  _ Draco froze and looked at her questioningly, and she beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. When he realized her intent, his eyes darkened visibly. The heat that had begun stirring within Hermione spread out along her nerves in small flames. She murmured loudly enough for both of her wizards to hear, “I want to taste you.” Draco fell slowly forward until his nose brushed against hers. His eyes were closed as she tipped his head back and to the side so that she could lap the honey from the corner of his mouth.

She licked the sticky trail from Draco’s chin up to his mouth at an excruciatingly slow pace, listening to his breath become ragged. He held his head still under her ministrations, but his hands slid up and down over the silky fabric covering her waist. It was surreal, like one of the dreams she’d been having since accepting the stake. Time slowed and the temperature of both the room and her body rose as she felt another set of hands touch her and heard a familiar, silky murmur in her ear. “Such a lovely girl.” Lucius was brushing her curls from her neck, winding them around his fingers and pulling her head back slightly. His mouth was on her neck then, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin until she gasped against Draco’s lips. The younger Malfoy took this as an invitation and unfroze, capturing her lips in a deep kiss that tasted of honey.

The sensation of being touched simultaneously by both of them brought back each dream, each fantasy of the past two weeks. Hermione gave a groan of pure pleasure, and Lucius murmured again, “It’s time. Draco?” She felt him gently push at the younger wizard’s shoulder when he didn’t break the kiss right away. Draco yielded with obvious reluctance and got to his feet, drawing Hermione up with him. He bent down to kiss her again, but Lucius intervened once more. “Ah, ah, ah.” 

With a sigh, Draco said hoarsely, “Come on, little witch.” He sank to the couch gracefully, sitting so that his back was against its arm and his legs sprawled along the length of it, and held out his arms. “Let me hold you.” Hermione went to him willingly, recognizing in his words the description of his part in the ceremony as Lucius had explained it to her. _ Draco will hold you, and I will set the rune _ . Draco guided her to sit between his legs, with her back to his hard-muscled torso. Their closeness furthered her physical response to what was going on; the now familiar thrumming sensation pulsed in her sex, and her knickers felt decidedly wet. He untangled the long skirt of her gown and let it drop heavily over their legs “You look beautiful tonight.” His hands ran lightly up her sides to the curve of her breasts and cupped that lush flesh. 

The fog of desire thickened in Hermione’s brain. Lucius was too far away now for her liking, and Hermione held a hand out to him. He moved to the couch and knelt, straddling their intertwined legs and looming over them both for a moment before bending down to kiss her. Lucius sucked at her bottom lip just as Draco gently bit her shoulder, and she gave a wanton moan. The pulsing desire was quickly changing to a pleasant ache, causing her to squirm.

Lucius pulled back and looked her in the eye. “It is the job of the eldest husband to set a rune on the Bespoken one after the binding ceremony. Are you ready to take our mark, my prize?” At her nod, he reached into his pocket and produced a tiny box. He leaned down and chastely pressed his lips to her own. “Keep your ring until I ask for it, and then take off its end. It will open only for you.”

_He’s trying not to terrify me._ The realization filled her heart with a tenderness of almost fierce proportions, and she growled against his lips, “ _Give me my_ _rune_ , Lucius.” She felt the passion that Lucius tried so hard to reign in slip just a little, as the force of his next kiss pushed her head back onto Draco’s shoulder. The box dropped from his hands to her lap.

Draco’s chest was rising and falling in ragged breaths. At some point she had become aware of the long, hard shaft of his erection pressing into her hip, and she raised a hand to wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer. Breaking away from Lucius, she looked up over her shoulder to catch Draco’s lips in an awkward but heated kiss. His fingers, which had never left her chest, gave an involuntary flex, catching her tight peaks between them. It made Hermione groan again and arch into his hands. Draco drew his head back and stared down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” 

“Yeeeees.” At her word, he slipped a hand between them, unzipped the bodice of her gown, and unhooked her bra. She felt his fingers brush against her shoulders, and then her sides as he slid the garments down to her waist. 

Lucius exhaled sharply as he caught sight of her hardened nipples. “It would seem that you are.” He leaned down and pressed a sensual kiss to the left one. “However,” he raised his head, “It would be remiss of me to neglect any of my duties. We must ensure that you are, indeed, ready.” He brought his hands to her breasts, flicking and twirling and tugging until she squirmed desperately, trying to rub her legs together. It was too much and yet not nearly enough. “Help our witch, Draco, while I mark her as ours.” 

She felt the young wizard slide one hand down her stomach and between her legs and whimpered at the tease of release. The heavy fabric of her dress was hindering his efforts, and that aching need within her was coiling tighter and tighter with each twirl, tug, and flick of Lucius’ fingers. “Nnnngh.” She pushed at the gown around her waist, suddenly wanting it to disappear. “Get it off me,” she growled. Together they made short work of unzipping it the rest of the way and shimmying it off her, and all the while Lucius kept up his relentless torment of her breasts. His mouth met hers again in an urgent push-pull of lips and tongues, and she clawed at him when Draco’s hand slid down her stomach again and dipped under her knickers.

_ Someone’s been learning from Lucius. _ The thought was garbled, though, because fingers were sliding through her slick folds and a warm palm was hitting her clit with each pass. Hermione squeezed shut her eyes and turned blindly to kiss Draco, moving against his hand in abandon. That urgent feeling of impending release had begun deep in her gut, along with the fluttering of its beginning. “Please, Draco,” she gasped.

Suddenly Lucius stopped his ministrations. Hermione’s eyes flew open in shock, only to see him opening the small box with shaking hands. She watched as he took out the tiny bar and held it out to her with a burning light in his eyes. Draco’s hand still moved between her legs and she moved against it even as she took the ring. “How- Oh! How do I- mmmmmmm . . . Ah!” She gave up trying to speak and began distractedly trying to open the small piece of jewelry. Finally, fumblingly, she opened it by pulling off one jeweled end. “Lucius, don’t stop. Keep- oooooh!”

He was watching her with obvious pleasure; that much Hermione could see through her haze of lust. “Keep what, pet? Keep plucking those delightful sounds out of you, like this?” He began a rhythmic assault on her nipples in time with Draco’s movements, and she fought to find her finish quickly, lest he stop again. Lucius’ mouth was moving in some silent incantation, and he was looking at her expectantly. She finally managed to hand the tiny ring to him and watched as he continued uttering the spell. Then he pressed the ring to her tight peak, there was a flare of magic that lit up their faces, and her orgasm crashed over her like an earthquake. The aftershocks went on and on, and Draco’s hand soothed over her sensitized folds all the while. A lifetime (or at least five seconds) later, she became aware that his strong arm, still locked around her middle, was the only thing keeping her from toppling over. He was nuzzling her cheek. 

Lucius was watching her closely. “Are you alright, pet?”

“Hmmmmm. Of course.” She forced her eyes to focus. “That’s a silly question. Why do you ask?”

His fingers stroked the underside of her breast. “You need to close the ring, my prize.” She realized that he was still holding her erect nipple in a firm pinch, and that she could feel the intrusion of the small bar through it.

“Close the ring,” she repeated dumbly. “Oh, right! Here it is.” 

She held the flashing emerald out to him, but he shook his head. “You need to do this part. It’s the last step of the ceremony.” There was a magnetic pull between the ring that now pierced her flesh and the cap in her hand. She let it guide her motions, and Lucius maintained his grip until the pieces snapped shut with a definitive click. As soon as it had closed, a strong, new magic licked its way under her skin from the ring out to every inch of her body. As it flowed through her she felt warmth, and light, and a power that felt both ancient and right. Lucius was looking down at her triumphantly. “You bear the glow of a marked witch already. The rune is pleased with its new Mistress.” He stood from where he’d been kneeling over her and Draco, never taking his eyes from her.

Draco was lifting her gently off his lap and sliding off the couch. “I’d like to see it.” He crouched down beside her, and his expression was both hungry and pleased. He reached a hand out toward the glittering ring, and suddenly Hermione was very aware that she sat before her wizards in only her knickers. She drew her legs up in front of her, flushing deepest vermillion from her face to her chest. Draco looked abashed. “Forgive me.” He withdrew his hand and caught up her gown, offering it to her.

She couldn’t help but notice the hurt that fleetingly crossed his beautiful face.  _ He’s just given me indescribable pleasure without asking anything in return, and I won’t even let him look at the ring he helped create for me. _ The thought made her feel selfish but did nothing to diminish the fact that, now that the fog of lust was clearing from her mind, she felt self-conscious. She fought through it determinedly.  _ My Draco would do anything for me, and I have no reason to hide from him.  _ Finding a possible solution to the problem, she bravely unbent her legs and slid to sit on the edge of the couch in front of him. “I’d feel better if I weren’t the only half-naked person in the room.” She tugged at his shirt, untucking it from his trousers and slipping the first button from its hole. 

His eyes had dropped to her chest in the meantime, lingering on her bejeweled breast. “I’ll gladly go without my shirt if it means you’ll do the same.” She watched him swallow thickly, fascinated by the bob of his Adam’s apple, and then she was distracted by what she found under his shirt. A bare-chested Draco was glorious. He was all muscles and tendons and long bones, not yet filled out but in the peak of health and fitness. Her eyes wandered over the dips and bumps she’d only felt before now, and her fingers followed. Finally she raised her eyes back to his, to find him watching her smugly. “See something you like?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, completely forgetting the awkwardness of a few moments ago. “Maybe.” Her fingers traced around one of his pale pink nipples and he shivered. Hermione bit back her grin. “I can see how  _ that _ would be fun to do.”

Draco raised a hand to her pierced nipple, pausing as if for permission. When she nodded with a smile, he stroked it, grinning at her reaction. “Exactly.” He dropped his head and kissed it chastely. “Although yours are far more interesting than mine.”

They laughed softly together, meeting for a kiss that began as gentle and ended with Hermione straddling Draco’s lap, held tightly against his erection as their mouths moved together hungrily. When they broke apart, she pushed her face against his, cheek to cheek. “I know the ceremony changed the rules somewhat, but I’m at a loss as to what to do next.” She drew back to look at him questioningly.

Draco sighed and pulled her back to nestle against him. “Please don’t think you have to do anything you’re not ready for, sweetheart. This is more than I could ever have hoped for.” They sat like that for several more seconds.

Something was missing, though.  _ Lucius _ . Hermione’s head shot up and she looked about wildly until she spied him, standing a few feet away and watching them with a small, resigned smile on his face.  _ He thinks I’ve forgotten him, but he’s happy for Draco.  _ She was having none of that.  _ He needs to learn once and for all that I’m not like Narcissa in any way _ . Shaking off her self-consciousness, she pressed a lingering kiss to Draco’s mouth and went to her other wizard. Pressing her naked torso to him, she stood on tiptoes and wound her arms about his neck as far as she could. “Lucius, my love, why are you over here all by yourself?”

He looked down at her lovingly. “I won’t steal you from Draco. Have your time with him, and when you’re ready, come to me.” His hands stroked down her back tenderly.

_ Oh no, no, no. _ She began unbuttoning his crisp linen shirt. “I’ve become very good at reading that impassive face of yours, Lucius Abraxas, and I know what you’re thinking. You couldn’t be more wrong. I don’t want him any more than I want you. I choose you both. Now, stop being silly and take off your shirt. You  _ did  _ offer to teach me what ‘practically naked’ meant.” He gave a small smile, which wasn’t nearly enough of a response for Hermione. She looked up at him from under her lashes, drawing deeply from the reservoir of courage within her. “Will you teach me something new, sir?”

His hands came up to her sides and slid down to rest on her hips. “And what sort of lesson would you like, pet?”

_ Still maudlin _ . Her fingers were working furiously at his buttons, and she began kissing the skin of his chest as it was revealed to her. “Show me how to touch you.” She spread his unbuttoned shirt and pushed it off his broad shoulders, and her mouth fell open at the sight of him. Lucius was all  _ man _ . Her hands came up to trace over his chest and stomach, reveling in the sheer masculinity of his body. Soft blonde hair grew over his chest and trailed down into his trousers. She ran a finger in a downward path until she came to his belt and looked up at him again. “Show me how to please you, sir.” She watched his eyes darken and felt a tangible shift in his mood.  _ Victory! _ Then she remembered that the particular lesson she had just requested had been at the root of most of her anxieties for the past several hours. She shook off that thought, focusing on Lucius’ insecurities rather than her own. “Let me love you, Lucius.”

He twinkled down at her and pulled her flush. “Are you asking to be corrupted, my prize?”

She gave a small grin. “Can one be partially corrupted?”

“I think that can be arranged.” He frowned contemplatively. “Tell me exactly what you meant first.”

Hermione blushed.  _ Oh, Circe and Merlin in a broom cupboard – I managed to stand here in nothing but my knickers without blushing, and now I’m going to turn beet red?! _ She ran her finger just under the waistline of his trousers. “You know what I mean.”

Lucius leaned down so that she had to arch into him to maintain eye contact. “Perhaps you would like for me to perform Legilimens on you?”

_ Why am I not surprised that he can . . . _ “Absolutely not.” She looked down for a second, watching her hand moving through the hair under his navel. “I want you to teach me how to touch you, the way you touch me.” Her hand trailed down boldly over the huge, hard bulge in his trousers. 

Lucius was at obvious war with himself. He looked over at Draco and appeared to be having a silent conversation with him in which he was both pleading for something and arguing against it. Finally he looked down at her and shook his head. “As tantalizing as that request may be, I must postpone that lesson.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her words with a kiss. As he plied her mouth with his lips and tongue, Hermione’s brain whirred.  _ I know he’s not rejecting me because he doesn’t want it. And I know he’s turned on right now. And just by the way he’s kissing me I know he’s thinking about me doing that to him. _ Eventually she willed herself to stop analyzing the situation and was rewarded with an explanation at the end of the kiss. Lucius finally pulled his lips from hers. “I think that I would like you all to myself for that, as would Draco. What do you think, pet?” He held her tightly against him and thrust against her stomach with a low groan.

Hermione nodded, recognizing the wisdom in his words. “I like that idea very much.”

He grinned at her wolfishly. “And I like your ensemble very much.” His fingers traced the edges of her knickers, and then he stepped away to look her up and down. He leaned low and murmured in her ear, “This should be your everyday house attire beginning Saturday.”

Hermione snorted, dropping her head against his chest. “I don’t think a pair of knickers and a House Wife ring constitute an ensemble, Lucius.”

He watched his left hand trace up her side and over the curve of her breast to toy with the glittering ring. “You’re absolutely right, pet. You need a necklace, too.” 


	59. Thursday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy posting day! Hoping each of you found some way to enjoy a very happy Halloween despite the pandemic. Our annual Do was considerably smaller but merry nevertheless. Alas, no apple bobbing or other health-hazardous games . . .   
> This would have been posted much sooner this evening, but late this afternoon I found a particularly lovely bottle of Cab hiding in the back of the wine cupboard. Skål!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday Morning

Hermione gave a luxurious stretch as she woke to the new day. Her father’s sunrise philosophy came to mind:  _ Set nature as your alarm clock, and every day will begin in glory. _ She pressed her fingers to her lips in silent tribute to his wisdom and slipped silently from the silken sheets, pausing only to draw her wand from the bedside table. A glance to the far side of the decadent bed proved that Fleur slumbered on, silenced once again by a desperately cast Muffliato early last night. The French windows were still flung wide open, done so by Hermione herself and left that way under threat of dismissal. The blush of dawn cast its glow around the lovely room, and a veritable symphony of birdsong contributed to the purely magical atmosphere. This was the time of day she enjoyed most. 

Hermione tiptoed to the balcony, drawn by a pull so strong that it couldn’t be denied. She shivered in the cool air, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to preserve the lingering warmth of her bed. A sudden movement had her whirling to her left, to find a familiar Brown Yogle alighting on the balustrade - Harry’s owl.  _ News from Harry and the girls! _ “Good morning, Mouse,” She said in a cajoling tone as she hesitantly stretched a hand toward the letter in the bird’s beak. “Easy, now. You know me.” Hedwig’s replacement regarded her for a moment and fluttered farther down the heavy stone handrail. Hermione sighed and began what she and Harry had at some point dubbed  _ the Mouse dance _ . “Of course you do. Here, Mouse. Give me my letter,” She cooed and followed the bird’s retreat, wincing slightly at the chilly stone beneath her bare feet.

It had taken Harry time to recognize the need for another owl, but finally he’d caved to convenience and brought home the Yogle from the Magical Menagerie. It was obvious from the start that Mouse was ‘just a bit’ sensitive - most especially when it came to Hermione. Their relationship was strained at best, resulting in any correspondence from Harry being beak-bitten and often delayed. He’d laughingly suggested his new owl was jealous of their close friendship, but they’d both come to realize that was no joke. 

“Come on, Mouse - give me Harry’s letter and then we can go find you a nice treat.” The odd-looking bird stared at her unblinkingly and hopped a few feet farther down the rail. Hermione bit back a growl, managing to keep her voice even. “Please.”

The infuriating owl took flight, soaring overhead and keeping Hermione’s eyes pinned with her own. This time the growl wouldn’t be contained. “ _ Give me my letter, you wretched bird!” _

There was a rush of air slightly behind her. “Do you require assistance, Miss Granger?”

Hermione raised her wand and spun defensively before she recognized the sound of Draco’s voice. “Sweet Circe!” He was hovering just beyond the balcony on a good-sized carpet, the early morning light lending him an almost ethereal glow. “What . . . Is that a magic carpet?” She walked to him and leaned over the handrail so that they were only feet apart. 

“It’s a  _ flying _ carpet; the magic is implied. I was hoping to persuade you and your chaperone to take an early-morning flight around the estate with me.”

She was intrigued. “I’ve only read about them. Why not broomsticks?”

Draco gave an almost-smile paired with a twinkle, causing her to forget to breathe for a few seconds. “I didn’t think Fleur would approve of you riding my broomstick just yet.”

She blushed at his double entendre and then smirked. “You’re right. Unfortunately,” she turned to peer into her bedroom toward the bed at the far side of the room, “Fleur is not what my father would have called __ an  _ early bird _ .”

“You’re saying she’s still asleep, and not likely to get up any time soon.” At her nod he sighed and added softly, “You look radiant at dawn, Hermione.”

She blushed again, smoothing one hand through her wild curls and another down the front of her nightgown. “Thank you. I didn’t expect to see anyone out here, so . . .” She waved a hand towards herself. “And thank you for  _ this _ . It’s safe to say the design emphasis was on  _ gown _ and not  _ night. _ It’s lovely. _ ”  _ Indeed it was. When she and Fleur had returned to the room after the ceremony the night before, it had been laid out on the bed on her side, ostensibly by Trinket. Hermione had put it on, feeling the everyday magics of expensive fabric and design flow over her skin. It was pale blue and completely impractical for sleeping, with its rather snug bodice and floor-length skirt made of layers of sheer organza, but altogether the most beautiful thing Hermione had ever dreamed of wearing to bed. She added almost immediately, “How anyone thought this would be comfortable for sleeping is beyond me, though.”

“They didn’t.”

“Hmmmm?” She was momentarily nonplussed. 

He explained with a husky chuckle that made her stomach flip-flop. “I mean that I don’t think it’s meant to be left on. It’s designed to be taken off.” Now his eyes ran over her figure slowly. “Lucius was right.”

“He often is, in my limited experience. To what instance are you referring?”

Draco’s eyes left their thorough perusal to meet hers briefly, before returning to the task. “I told him I had no interest in women’s fashion, and that I felt that the courtship rules regarding your own clothing were there to deter me from admiring your gorgeous body.”

The pleasant turmoil in her stomach moved lower, and the result was even pleasanter. “How does that make Lucius right?”

“His response was that a beautifully clothed woman was like a gift. He said I would come to appreciate the act of unwrapping you.” Draco’s eyes continued to move over her body. Finally he met her eyes with a dark look. “I would very much like to unwrap you right now, Miss Granger.” 

Hermione shivered, less from the cool temperature than from his words. At that same moment, Mouse circled their heads and then dropped like a stone to Draco’s shoulder, effectively killing the moment.  _ Damn that bird!  _ She hissed, “Get that letter, Draco.  _ Now. _ ”

Her wizard glanced at the bird on his shoulder. “Hello, Mouse. Good to see you again, girl.” He reached up a hand and scratched the back of her head lightly. “Do you have something for Hermione?”

The bird’s response was to puncture her sharp beak through the missive, staring at the curly-haired witch unrepentantly. Draco laughed quietly, earning him his first real glare from his fiancée. She growled, “I swear to you, Draco Hyperion Malfoy, if you find this funny in  _ any _ way . . .”

Draco’s eyes danced at her, but his response was to Mouse. “You know, little owl, you and my witch have much in common.” He regarded Hermione intensely as he continued in a soothing voice, “You’re both such lovely girls, so fierce and smart. Yes, and you have beautiful eyes and such pretty feathers, don’t you?” His fingers were stroking along her back now, and Mouse’s eyes began blinking in pleasure. Her beak was working its way out of the mutilated letter, and finally she proffered it to the blond wizard in a gentle fashion. “I do love to touch you.”

_ It figures she’d like Draco! And how can I possibly be so bothered by the fact that a stupid bird dislikes me?!  _ Hermione shook the thought off, choosing instead to concentrate on the knowledge that Draco’s words were obviously meant for her. As if to prove that point, he added almost roughly, “I like my feisty girl.”

That last bit sent a jolt of desire racing through her system. “Draco,” she intoned, leaning farther over the railing. Mouse seemed to realize that her competition was moving in, and dropped the letter in Draco’s lap with a soft coughing noise.

He rubbed his nose against the owl’s beak, his eyes never leaving Hermione’s own. “Such a perfect girl you are. I could pet you all day.”

Hermione shivered again. Her focus shifted momentarily to the letter in his lap, noticing that it lay across a rather impressive tent in his trousers. She smiled, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Why, Mr. Malfoy - I wasn’t aware you found owls so . . .  _ exciting _ .”

The bird gave an indignant shake of her head. Draco’s fingers dropped to stroke Mouse’s brown and cream-streaked chest, but he never looked away from Hermione. “Thoughts of petting a pretty owl kept me up very late last night and then filled my dreams.” His other hand dipped to the letter and handed it to her slowly.

As soon as it was safely in her grasp, she crowed triumphantly and waved the letter about. “Take that, you nasty ball of feathers! Look - and I’ll still be able to read it!” Internally her exultation sounded a bit different.  _ Draco just admitted he dreamed of touching me all night! _

He raised an eyebrow, in that moment bearing an eerie resemblance to Lucius. “Why, Miss Granger, if I didn’t know better I’d say you and this fine owl had an adversarial relationship.” He turned to gaze at Mouse. “That isn’t so, is it, pretty girl?” The bird rubbed her beak against Draco’s cheek lovingly, and he chuckled. “I didn’t think so. All right, Mouse. I’m sure there’s a nice frog just waiting for you by the river. We’ll send back a reply in a bit.” He wiggled his shoulder encouragingly. She took his hint and pushed off with one last, almost loving, look his way.

As the Yogle flew away at last, Hermione found herself torn between wanting to read the note from her ‘brother’ and exploring the fascination that was her fiancé. She found him staring at her hungrily and blushed. “I cannot believe you were attempting to seduce me by using that horrid owl. How is it you and she are so thick, anyway?”

“I dislike that word. _ ‘Attempting’ _ implies that I was unsuccessful. As far as Harry’s owl, I assume it’s for the same reasons most females throw themselves at my feet.” He was smirking at her cockily, and the expression only heightened her growing arousal. His words, however, caused her to snort indelicately and roll her eyes.

“Then in the interests of keeping that handsome head of yours from inflating too much, I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not ‘most females’.” An unrelated thought struck her. “I’m assuming that you’d come closer if you could. Are my room and balcony off limits?”

“You think I’m handsome.” Draco’s grin remained in place. “Most definitely off limits. The only reason I haven’t tried it is that I’d get the shock of my life.”

Hermione thought back to the zaps she’d witnessed with a shudder. “No! Stay where you are! I don’t suppose . . .” She looked over her shoulder toward where Fleur still lay sleeping, then turned back to her wizard with a questioning look.

“Absolutely not, unfortunately,” he replied. “Leaving the balcony without your chaperone is also forbidden.” His eyes traveled her figure once more, and he leaned a bit closer. “Come and have breakfast with me in the morning room. You can plan your day and avail yourself of my services in any capacity you wish.” His suggestive comment, paired with the still-roguish gleam in his eyes, caused another jolt of desire to course through her.  _ The good kind of zap _ , she thought to herself.

“I will, but first I’ll have to wake Sleeping Beauty in there.” The letter in her hand, temporarily forgotten in the gathering mist of desire, caught her attention again. “And I have a note to read, a reply to write, and an owl to cajole as well. It might be a while.” She broke open Harry’s letter, glancing at the date scribbled at its top. “She’s quite possibly the evilest owl ever - it looks like he wrote it Tuesday night!”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Use our old owl, or Floo Harry instead if you like. Either way you choose, just stop by Lucius’ study.”

“In the interests of him getting my message in a timely manner - if at all - I think that’s a good idea.” She paused and added playfully, “And, Draco . . . I look forward to availing myself of your services today.”

He grinned. “Excellent. I’ll go bother Molly for a bit, then. I heard her arrive with a rambunctious crew as I left the house. Shall we say seven o’clock?” At her nod of agreement, Draco bowed his head, glancing up at her from beneath his dark blond lashes. “Until then, Miss Granger.” He directed the flying carpet away from the balcony, never once taking his eyes from hers until he finally rounded the corner of the house. 

Hermione gave one last, satisfying shiver of delight at her wizard’s utter sex appeal, and then turned back to her room in a whispery twirl of organza. Her brain was already going full tilt.  _ First order of business: Wake Fleur. _ She summoned Trinket hesitantly.

The little house elf appeared at the bedside with a  _ crack _ . “Trinket serves the Lady with pleasure this morning!”

“Thank you. Errrrrr, I was wondering if you might have time to . . .” she trailed off uncertainly, still uncomfortable with the idea of being waited on by anyone, let alone a magical creature. 

Said creature was frowning at her as if she had spoken aloud. “Does the Lady need reminding that this is Trinket’s House to care for, or does she doubt that Trinket is able to perform her duties as housekeeper?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that! I just don’t like bothering you. I’m sorry, I’m not used to being served.”

The frown deepened into a look of definite disapproval. “You will be Mistress soon, will you not?”

“Yes, I suppose . . .”

“No respectable House is run without a housekeeper, and  _ Trinket’s House _ is respectable.  _ I will not let you bring down my House _ ,” the little creature growled.

It was the house elf’s use of personal pronouns that sealed the argument for Hermione. That, and her slightly threatening tone.  _ She means business, and I don’t think I want to cross her. _ “I have no such desire, and my mistake is based purely on my apparent ignorance of the place of house elves in Pure-blood Houses. I will work to remedy that. Please forgive me, Trinket.” The curly-haired witch bowed her head respectfully.

There seemed to be an odd balance of servitude and dominance on the part of the Malfoy housekeeper, evidenced by the way she accepted Hermione’s apology almost regally. “The Masters have explained you have much to learn. Trinket is happy to help.” She swept her hand in a general way around the bedroom. “What does the Lady require this morning?”

“Would you please bring coffee for Mademoiselle Delacour?”

The issue resolved to her liking, Trinket gave an approving smile and nod. “Right away, Lady!” She was gone in another crack of magic.

_ She plans to train me. _ Shaking off the irksome thought, Hermione hiked up the skirt of her nightdress and clambered up onto the high bed, doing her best to disturb Fleur in the process. She released the Muffliato and yelled out, “The Weasleys are here! The Weasleys are here!”

At the noise, Fleur first dragged a pillow over her head and then bolted upright with wildly disoriented eyes. “Whaaa . . .?”

“Time to rise and shine, Fleur! The Weasleys are here, and we need to be headed downstairs for breakfast by six-thirty!”

Fleur seemed to be reassuring herself that she wasn’t dreaming. She stared at Hermione for a few seconds before flopping back onto the pillows. “Coffee _. _ ”

“On its way. Do  _ not _ fall back asleep. You have,” She glanced at the nearest timepiece, “an hour and a half to be ready. I’ll be in the shower.”

As she walked into the adjoining room, Hermione heard the  _ crack _ of Trinket’s return.  _ Perfect timing _ . She perched at the dressing table, Harry’s letter in hand. It was written in typical Harry fashion.

_ Hello Love, _

__

_ Hopefully Mouse isn’t in a mood, and this gets to you relatively intact and within the week. I am sending it a bit early just in case, though. _

__

_ The girls and I settled in to Grimmauld Place tonight as expected. Kreacher has been behaving unusually well, and seems to have a terrified admiration of Luna. I’ve decided not to question it, as it’s working in our favor. He’s even suggested replacing Walburga’s picture with one of her! Ginny’s in full bossy mode, with all the decisions that are required to set up house. You’ll be happy to know that I’ve had the lion’s share of kinky sex already, and we’ve only been here a few hours. In fact, I’m using the excuse of writing this letter to catch a breather. _

__

_ Hope things have gone similarly for you (with the obvious exceptions), and that you’re enjoying your time with your wizards. I’d like to see you before Friday as would the girls,  _ _ although it sounds as if you will see them Wednesday for the shower _ _ DISREGARD THAT. How about Thursday morning? Molly has asked us to meet there for some last-minute things. I’m thinking of you fondly. The girls are getting restless and I need a bit more recovery time. I’m going to suggest they each add a note to this. _

__

_ Harry _

__

Slightly farther down the long piece of parchment, written in purple sparkly ink, was a message that could only be from Luna:

_ ‘Mione, _

__

_ It will be the green one first, I think, and then Draco’s. The star charts show Thursday night to be a portentous time for you and your wizards. Do watch out for umbloots of any variety. My latest tealeaves were in the distinct shape of a trifle bowl. Very interesting, don’t you think? See you Thursday! _

Then, from Ginny:

_ Hello, witch! _

__

_ If I know Mouse, you’ll be getting this Thursday morning (Lu and I took bets against that damned bird, but Harry is still defending her). How’s the Manor? I’ve heard it’s breathtaking, and can’t wait to visit. I hope you’ve finally figured out how to dress yourself. Really - ‘classic Hermione’ is a look that should never come back. Also, I’ve let you wallow in ordinariness for a year and now it’s time to remember how extraordinary you actually are. Whatever. Lu is babbling again - since she got pregnant, she’s been quite keen on Divination. I love her, but we couldn’t be more different. In local news, I think we wore Harry out, but we’ve agreed to torture him until he admits that aloud. _

With a snort of laughter, Hermione left the letter on the dressing table and went to shower. There, standing under the hot spray of water amidst clouds of steam, she made mental notes about the upcoming day.  _ Finally - no more house arrest! Explore grounds. Wait - Draco mentioned a crowd had already arrived – they’re here already! Scratch exploring grounds! Quick visit, then research in the library. Pure-blood weddings and full moon ceremonies for sure. Hopefully Pure-blood history and the Malfoy House Wife diaries, too. Four hours? Six? Talk to Molly about reception – I guess I should really know what’s going on before tomorrow. I can do that at breakfast if they’re all there. Lucius, too - his viewpoint will be important. Errrrr, maybe that should be when we’re alone. What is tickling the back of my mind about weddings . . . Oh, for Merlin’s sake - I need to find a present for them both! How am I going to- We can go to Diagon Alley, maybe with Gin and Lu this morning. Scratch research in library! Ok, reprioritize . . . very quick visit, skip breakfast, find presents, then talk to Molly and Lucius about our reception, Pure-blood weddings in general, and full moon ceremonies. Sandwich in library with critical reading material. Circe’s left - I’m done for. No - wait, wait - I want to spend time with Draco, too! aaaagh! _ She tugged at her hair in frustration.

As if shortening her shower by a few minutes could lengthen the day measurably, she attacked her regular routine competitively. When she had scrubbed every inch of skin nearly raw and shampooed and conditioned vigorously, she shut off the water and charmed the stubble from her legs. Then, slathering her skin with redolent oil and wrapping a robe around herself she raced back to the dressing room. All focus now on being ready as soon as possible, she flew through the rest of her morning routine as she had done so many times in years past. This time, however, she made sure to place proper emphasis on the state of her hair and face, barely avoiding putting her eye out with the mascara wand.

As soon as each curl spiraled over her shoulders in controlled chaos and her face had been charmed with a tasteful amount of makeup, she dashed out to the bedroom. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, and her heart was racing. “Fleur, you now have fifteen minutes.”

The Frenchwoman was still lounging in bed, coffee cup in hand. “Absolutely not. It’s only been half an hour. I have sixty more minutes before we have to leave.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously. “I lied. If you get up now, you may have thirty.”

Fleur must have sensed the desperation in her charge at that moment. She sighed and set her cup down on the bedside table. “Very well. But only because-”

“ _ Don’t patronize me _ ,” the younger witch hissed. “I am getting married tomorrow and entering a society about which I have  _ no clue _ and it has just occurred to me that I have a lot to pack in to one day.” Her chest was heaving, and her voice and hands were shaking.

The chaperone was looking at her with concern. “Hermione, are you alright? I think you should sit down.”

She felt the covenant reach out to her tentatively, but in her fretfulness pushed it away.  _ Stop! Go away! You’re part of the reason I’ve had such ridiculous priorities the past two weeks! I could have been reading, and researching, and-  _ She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands in an attempt to control what seemed to be an inevitable anxiety attack. “I can’t . . . I can’t breathe!”

__

Fleur was guiding her back to the dressing room, to the comfortable leather couch in the middle of the area. She forced Hermione’s legs up until they were bent at the knee and her chin was between them, and now she was rubbing the younger witch’s back comfortingly. “Hermione, if you can feel your covenant right now, let it help.”

The presence pushed against the edge of her consciousness, moving like the cat she had come to imagine it to be. It stretched and nudged in a repetitive pattern until Hermione latched on to the feeling, letting go of everything else. It sent her images of the past two weeks and then other, different images. The first was of a slightly younger version of herself in the library. Instead of the image being from her point of view, it was from someone else’s - as if they were watching her from between the shelves of the nearest bookcase. Her head was buried in a thick book, and she looked pale and thin. The emotion that accompanied the memory was one of pain and longing. Awareness flooded her.  _ Draco. _ Another mental picture, this one of her collapsed on the floor of the Malfoy Great Hall, even paler and thinner. Her face was bruised, her clothes stained with blood, and suddenly she was overcome with a feeling of protectiveness and desperation.  _ Lucius. _ The covenant purred at her comprehension.  _ So this has been about them. They needed me more than I needed to know what’s going on. _

More images came - of her face looking up from a hundred different angles, each happy. Shy blushes gave way to soft smiles, and they in turn became quietly amused half-grins. Hermione realized she was watching the courtship through the eyes of her wizards, and that she had opened slowly to their attentions like the blue rose to which Lucius had compared her. She watched the mental slideshow with fascination, not even realizing that her heart was calming, as the covenant’s memories of her face continued to change. The grin morphed slowly into a coyly bitten lip, then a confident grin full of teeth, and then, finally, a look of confidence that radiated love and even lust.  _ That’s me - that’s how much I’ve changed since I took that stake from the Headmaster. _ And the truth was, she realized she  _ liked _ the change.

_ This is because you guided me, even when I didn’t know it. Did you know what would happen if I’d spent my time otherwise? _ A feeling almost like a belly-laugh pervaded her awareness.  _ And I’ve just mentally yelled at you to go away. I’m so . . . _

__

__ Her internal dialogue was cut short when the covenant pushed so hard against the edge of her consciousness that it broke through to the epicenter of everything that was Hermione - it felt as though it had wriggled its way into the place her parents had called her soul. She could feel its emotions flow alongside her own, and a voice that could only be described as  _ Other _ spoke.  _ ‘You are not the first Wife I have guided. Trust me, and I will prosper you and your House.’ _

__

_ You mean trust you blindly. Let you decide what I do and think. _ _ I know how to think for myself!  _ The words seemed disrespectful, but they were honest.

__

An almost physically palpable chuckle rumbled through her consciousness. ‘ _ Trust me _ ,  _ little Bespoken One _ .’

_ I don’t like someone else making my decisions! It isn’t natural for me to just trust. I need control! _

__

The covenant seemed to hug her comfortingly. At least, that’s what it felt like to Hermione, who still sat curled up on the small couch, head between her knees and eyes screwed shut. ‘ _ Trust me. You bear the rune of the Great One, and I guided her to birth the foundations of this House.’ _

__

_ Can I think about it? _ She winced at the impertinence of the question, but somehow knew the covenant found no affront.

On the contrary - it laughed again deeply.  _ ‘Witch, I have not met such a one as you since my awakening. Together we will bring glory as yet unseen to the House of Malfoy.’ _

__

_ IF I trust you - blindly. _ It went against everything within her, and yet this new proximity of the covenant within her was the equivalent of . . .  _ Everything _ . She addressed it one more time.  _ I recognize that you have protected me from the moment I accepted you, and that you have only worked for in the interests of my wizards and me. And . . . I have come to enjoy the sense of you within me. I accept that you had reason to steer me from what I would have chosen to do on my own, and hope you have a plan for today that doesn’t involve me going spare. So, for now I guess . . . _

__

The covenant was purring again deep within her, sharing its amused contentment with her. As she became aware of the space around her physical body once again, she hastened to add, _ but if you so much as cause my husbands-to-be a moment of needless pain or anguish, I will reject you with every part of my body and mind. _

__

There was one more ripple of unbridled amusement that wasn’t exactly her own, and then she was back in the dressing room, suddenly aware that the space held three more bodies than it had before.


	60. Thursday Morning and Then Some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TwintailHellcat, this update is for you!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday Morning

  
  


Hermione looked at the extra people in her dressing room. Molly, Ginny, and Luna were each regarding her with varying degrees of concern, and she tried to give a reassuring smile. “Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you quite yet.”

Molly sank down onto the couch beside her, reaching out to cup the curly-haired witch’s cheek in a motherly way. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

A sudden onslaught of tears threatened to spill over Hermione’s lower lashes, and her chin trembled with the effort to keep them from doing just that. She shook her head and took a deep, shuddering breath. Molly looked around at the other three witches and directed them to leave with one firm nod of her head towards the outer room. She turned back to Hermione, drawing the young witch against her comforting form and pulling a handkerchief out of her dress pocket. “Alright, you decide what you want - a good cry first and then talk, or talk first and then good cry.” She handed the folded linen square over and sat quietly, all the while rubbing Hermione’s arm lovingly. “There, there. Shhhh.”

It turned out that the good cry came first. As she let it all out, the young witch snuggled against her mother figure, grateful for the presence of Molly Weasley in her life. Eventually, her eyes dried and she stopped sobbing. With a hiccupping sigh, she raised her head. Molly was smiling softly at her. “Now that you’ve got that out of your system, how about a nice, cool washcloth and then we can talk.” It was more of a command than a suggestion, but Hermione found herself nodding in agreement even as Molly summoned a washcloth from the bathroom and doused it with a precisely cast Aguamenti. Then, pressing it to Hermione’s red eyes, she began, “You know, I had a bad case of nerves on the day before my wedding. Everything had gone smoothly up until that day, and then . . .” She lowered the washcloth a bit and looked at Hermione. “I guess I wasn’t as ready as I’d thought I was.”

Hermione took the wet cloth from Molly and put it over her eyes again, laying her head on the back of the couch. “I just had an argument with the Malfoy covenant, and I don’t think I won.”

The witch beside her laughed out loud. “Is this a case of nerves or bruised ego?”

Hermione gave another deep sigh. “Both? Neither? I don’t really know. This whole . . .  _ thing _ . . . has been such a whirlwind, and I’ve been completely caught up in spending time with Lucius and Draco. Every once in a while I remember that I still have no idea exactly what I’m doing, or what will happen tomorrow and after that. And to make matters worse, it feels like this covenant is guiding me away from researching anything!”

Molly took Hermione’s hand and held it between her own. “What is it you need to know right now, sweetheart?”

“I know nothing of Pure-blood history, or customs, or society; I don’t know the first thing about being a House Wife; I obviously don’t comprehend the full ramifications of being a Bespoke Witch!” Something else occurred to her mid-rant. “And I have only the faintest knowledge of the Malfoy business empire!”  _ Great - something else to add to this mess! _

Her anxiety must have been evident, because Molly made shushing noises and squeezed her hand gently. “Have you talked about this with Lucius and Draco?”

“Yes, but most of our conversations unravel fairly quickly . . .”

Molly grinned in an understanding way. “That’s the way of things when you’re in love. Has either of them expressed concerns when you  _ have _ talked?”

“No. In fact, they just dismiss it like it’s not important. Lucius said I could ask you anything, and offered to teach me himself, but he’s as distracted as I am!” Unbidden images sprang to mind of just how distracted she and Lucius had been over the past two days.

“Perhaps they don’t mind the fact that you’re new to it all.”

Hermione snorted. “Of course they don’t - they know everything already! How can I pass being a Bespoke Witch when I don’t even know what one is, exactly?”

“Pass? I wasn’t aware that there was a test given to Bespoke Witches.”

“You  _ know _ what I mean, Molly! I’m going to be a  _ failure _ , and embarrass myself and the two of them in front of the entire wizarding world.” She closed her eyes and finished in a whisper, “I feel so ignorant.”

“Do you honestly think you’re the first Bespoke Witch to enter Pure-blood society without an understanding of it?”

_ This _ had been niggling at the back of her mind since yesterday afternoon, and she seized the opportunity to ask, “Please explain how a House can retain Pure-blood status if the Bespoke Witch isn’t Pure-blood. That makes no sense whatsoever!”

Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise. “ _ Obviously _ she’s  _ Bespoke _ . Everything about her is perfect for that House.”

“That isn’t an answer, Molly,” Hermione growled.

The motherly witch tried again. “The blood status of the ancient Houses is passed through the male line. When a Bespoken one accepts the covenant of that House, she takes on the blood status of her wizards’ House.”

“So the ancient Houses aren’t really Pure-blood.”

Molly looked horrified at that statement. “Of course they are, Hermione! They carry within them the covenants, and the blood of the wizards who created them!”

“I’m sorry if I said something inappropriate, it’s just that I’m trying to understand it all. You’re saying that what makes someone a Pure-blood is their male line and carrying a family covenant?”

The older witch seemed appeased. She clarified, “Yes, although not all Pure-blood wizards and witches carry a covenant. At some point in his or her ancestry, an individual broke away from an ancient House, whether through marriage or weeding. Their blood is still considered pure, but they aren’t part of Pure-blood society, so to speak. 

_ I am entering an exclusive society completely wrapped up in thousands of years’ worth of tradition and history just waiting to be studied. If I don’t die of frustration, I might still die of happiness.  _ “Did Voldemort know all this?”

“That, my dear, is another subject altogether, and one you should avoid around Lucius - unless you like listening to him rant.” She stroked a hand over Hermione’s curls. “Hermione, if you take only one piece of my advice, let it be this: trust your covenant. If you are already aware enough of its presence within you to be arguing with it, you must have an unusually strong affinity for each other. Let it care for you and your wizards.  _ Trust it _ .”

“So I have to let go of my obsession with the acquisition of knowledge,” she joked half-heartedly.

“Absolutely not! Never! That would be denying part of what makes you unique. But perhaps focus on other things for the next few days. I know how you are with books, and once you begin this research of yours, no one will see you for hours at a time. That’s not exactly the way to spend the day before your wedding. Or the day  _ after _ .”

A twinge of guilt spread through her.  _ That’s not exactly the way to spend any part of a two-week engagement _ . The covenant seemed to agree, judging by the smug satisfaction it was emanating at her epiphany. “I can learn as I go - on the job, so to speak.”

“ _ Yes _ . And what a job it will be, sweetheart! Oh, just you wait until the first time the three of you-“

“Suddenly I feel much better!” Hermione interrupted quickly, interpreting Molly’s lustful expression as a red flag.  _ Although she’s really the only person I have to ask about such things. _ She added, “Maybe we can talk like this again later on.”

Molly kissed her forehead and replied, “I won’t leave until we do. Now let’s get you dressed. I know the girls are dying to see you, and I can think of two wizards who are anxiously awaiting you in the morning room.” She stood, pulling the curly-haired witch to her feet and leading her to the wall of closets.

They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence as they perused the now-burgeoning storage space. Every so often one of them would pull out a gown, holding it up for approval from the other, and finally Molly gave an exultant crow. “Oh, my - is this a- It is!! Here - this is what you’ll wear today.” She was holding up a somewhat familiar-looking, flowing gown of transparent chiffon in a warm shade of taupe.

Hermione eyed it apprehensively. “It’s beautiful, Molly - but it’s see-through. I think it might be a nightgown, like that one.” She gestured to the blue nightgown where it hung on a nearby valet hook.

Molly laughed. “Oh, no - this is a vintage engagement dress. I haven’t seen one in years. Trust me, put it on.”

_ I’ll do it if only to humor her, then she’ll realize it’s a negligee.  _ Hermione stepped into a pair of beige lace knickers and then dutifully slipped out of her robe. She lifted the delicate gown over her head, feeling it slip over her skin as it slid down her body. Smoothing it, the young witch turned to her mother figure with one eyebrow quirked, but Molly just beamed as she zipped it up and then pointed to the nearest mirror. “Well, go on - have a look!”

Hermione walked to the mirror in a silent flurry of chiffon, and what she saw caused her mouth to drop open. The gown was just two steps short of being completely transparent, but somehow managed to be almost demure. The end result was the preservation of modesty in the most daring way possible. It was floor-length, cut in a generous A-line to ruffle out with even the slightest movement, and flowed like shimmering streams of light. The bodice was fitted and had a deep V-neck, formed by the wrap of the delicate fabric over her breasts, and it was held up with delicate straps. For the second time in less than twelve hours, Hermione felt that she had never worn a garment so beautiful in her life. Still, it wasn’t exactly something she wanted to wear around anyone but her wizards. She gave Molly a dubious look. “It’s gorgeous, but I feel half-naked in it and we have company.”  _ I can see my ring through it plainly, for one thing. _

Molly shook her head. “It’s charmed. I recognize the feel of the magic woven into the cloth.”

“Errrrr, what?”

“It’s charmed, sweetheart. To anyone but you and your wizards, it’s just a lovely dress. This is probably a family heirloom; I can imagine any number of Malfoy Bespoken ones have worn it.”

Hermione stiffened at the information. “You mean Narcissa wore it.”  _ For Abraxas. And Lucius. _

Molly gave her a shrewd glance. She seemed to be considering something, but finally said, “Yes. I’m sure she did.” Hermione’s face must have been sending out clear signals of distress, because the motherly witch added, “Lucius gave me permission to talk about her, if you like.”

The young witch considered the offer.  _ I want to know, and yet I don’t. It could affect my relationship with Lucius. _ Still, she nodded firmly. “Yes, please.”

“Do you want the short version or the long one?” Molly looked resigned.

“Let’s start with the short one. I can always ask questions.” Hermione Summoned a chair from across the room for herself, while Molly sank back down on the couch. “Lucius says she was horrid - but you said she was Arthur’s favorite cousin.” Arthur Weasley didn’t seem the type to favor the kind of person Lucius had described to her.

Molly gave a heavy sigh. “She was a lovely child - spoilt, but lovely. Arthur was her favorite as well, and so I’m sure she was always on her best behavior around him. And they didn’t spend much time together - just the odd family get-togethers once or twice a year.”

The older witch was plainly hesitating, so Hermione prompted, “Well, go on - tell me what I need to know.”

“I only know what I heard from others - we didn’t see Narcissa much after she entered Hogwarts. People talked about her beauty, yes - but more than that, they talked about her cold personality and questionable companions. Abraxas recognized her as Bespoken, and pursued her openly, much to the dismay of many.”

“Lucius said his father desired her at an inappropriate age. Is that what you mean?”

Molly had a look of discomfort on her face. “The Pure-blood tradition is one of discretion. Wizards do not openly pursue their Bespoke Witches, which is why many times the wizarding world doesn’t find out until the actual wedding. It gives witches in high-profile considerations privacy and keeps them from feeling pressured into accepting the stake. And,” she added after a moment’s pause, “in the case of the Malfoy stake, Abraxas was chasing after a thirteen year-old girl.”

Hermione felt a number of emotions all at once - mainly disgust, but also insecurity. “That’s awful. She, ummmm, she must have been breathtaking.”

“Only on the outside, unfortunately. Narcissa accepted the stake on her sixteenth birthday, became the Malfoy House Wife two weeks later, and gave birth to Draco a year and a half afterward. Then she was dead within a month, and no one grieved her passing save her sister.”

Her fiancé’s words played back in her head: ‘ _ I became smitten with the idea of her in my bed _ ’. Another wave of self-doubt crashed over her. “Not even Lucius?”

“Hermione, ninety-nine percent of the time, House marriages are the happiest in the world. They’re founded on compatibility, nurtured by the family’s covenant, and given a lifetime to grow into something truly beautiful. Once in a great while, though, a covenant chooses a witch who seems to be . . . less than a perfect choice. Of course, in the end it’s clear that there was a plan, and that the covenant was right in the first place. When Draco was born, it was obvious that he was the culmination of one such plan. Lucius fell in love with that baby and never gave his dead Wife a second thought.” At Hermione’s skeptical expression, Molly reiterated, “It’s true. He has been waiting for you for nineteen years, and the love I see in his eyes was  _ never _ there before now.”

The young witch mulled over what she had just heard. Lucius had already told her most of it, but hearing it from Molly gave it more credibility. “He does love me very much already,” she murmured to herself.

Molly overheard the remark. “If you want further proof, I have plenty. You know, every time I ask for his opinion regarding wedding plans, he first asks if I think  _ you’ll _ like it. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger - at least, as close to that as anyone could ever get with Lucius Malfoy.”

Another thought struck Hermione, and she asked worriedly, “Will it bother him to see me in this dress? Will it remind him of her?”

“Sweetheart, he wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t want to see it on you. Besides,” Molly wiggled her eyebrows, “he won’t be able to think of anything besides you, even if he wanted to.”

She stood and looked at herself again in the mirror. The young woman looking back at her was lovely, if a bit insecure-looking. Hermione raised her chin and stared down her reflection defiantly.  _ Lucius and Draco love me. Nothing matters more than that in this moment. _ She was pleased to see the change in her mirror-image expression, which was now poised and confident.  _ That’s more like it _ . She went to Molly, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “Thank you for everything, but especially for this. I’ll try to let go of the things that aren’t important in the here and now, and I won’t worry about what’s happened in the past.”

“You don’t always have to know everything, my dear girl. Sometimes the best parts of this adventure are the surprises, especially when you have wizards who love you as much as yours do.” She patted Hermione’s knee firmly. “Now enough of this. I just had the  _ best _ idea! We’re going to get you a book -  _ one _ book - for today. Bowly!”

The tall house elf appeared, looking puzzled to find himself in Hermione’s dressing room. He bowed low. “Bowly serves the Lady with pride. What do you require?”

Molly gestured wildly for Hermione to answer, and she did after only a moment’s hesitation. “I would like one of the Malfoy House Wife diaries to read outside the library, please. Would you bring it to the morning room?”

Bowly nodded solemnly. “Right away, Lady. Do you have a preference regarding the volume?”

“No, I don’t know enough about them to choose myself. I guess any one will do.”

“Very well, Bowly will do his best.”

“Thank you.” The words were barely out of her mouth before the serious house elf Disapparated with a quiet  _ crack _ . The two witches headed for the door leading out to the bedroom, Hermione lost in thought. The taupe dress floated about her legs weightlessly, lending an ethereal grace to her movements.

“What’s going on in that head of yours now, sweetheart?”

She answered absently, “Hmm? Oh, I was only wondering about house elves and their grammatical rules regarding the use of personal pronouns.”

Suddenly Molly gripped her arm and jerked her sideways, disturbing the young witch from her ponderings. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy researching that someday, sweetheart. Until then, watch where you’re going. You almost ran into the door.”

“Oops.” They passed through the broad doorway side by side to find the outer room empty. “Where are-“

Hermione’s question was cut off by the unmistakable sound of Ginny’s laughter coming from the balcony. Molly pulled the young witch into one last hug, patting her cheek and saying, “I’ll be here all day. If you need anything - anything at all - Trinket will know where to find me. Now, go and have some fun!” Molly spun as if to Apparate, but nothing happened. “That’s odd. I wonder if Lucius is testing the wards this morning. Hmmm.” She tried again, with the same result. Sighing, she headed toward the door. “By foot it is, then.”

Before she made it that far, however, there was the sound of pounding feet in the corridor and then hands beating heavily on the door. More than one muffled voice was calling out, “Hermione! Hermione, are you alright?”

At the noise, the three other witches rushed in from the balcony. Fleur’s wand was drawn, and she ran to Hermione’s side with it raised before her defensively. Hermione drew her own, as did Molly, who approached the door cautiously and called out, “Who’s out there!”

“Molly, open this door at once!” Lucius’ unmistakable voice thundered loudly. The frantic beating on the door resumed.

The witch in question turned quickly to the rest of them, saying in a quiet, urgent tone, “I’m sure it’s nothing, but all of you go into the dressing room and follow Fleur’s orders. I’ll open the door when you’re out of sight.” She made eye contact with the Frenchwoman, and it looked as though they were having a silent conversation. Seemingly satisfied, Molly nodded. “Of course.”

Fleur ushered Ginny, Luna, and Hermione through the door. Her tone was cold and businesslike as she ordered, “Hermione is to be protected at all costs, which means I will be focused solely on shielding her. The two of you will stay out of my way at all times.” 

She was brusquely shoving Hermione farther into the room even as the curly-haired witch argued, “Oh, for Merlin’s sake - I’m perfectly capable of defending myself!”

“Silence!” Fleur stared her down without a trace of the humanity she had shown recently. She added in a voice completely devoid of emotion, “If you attempt to do anything stupid, I will not hesitate to stun you. Now get back and be ready.”

_ She’s not  _ joking. Acquiescing reluctantly, Hermione retreated a few paces. For several seconds there was silence, and then the sound of the door opening. Draco was nearly yelling. “Where is she? Is she alright? Who has entered this room?”

“Hermione is well, Draco. Why did the internal wards go up just now?” Molly managed to sound concerned and soothing at the same time.

“Hermione!” Lucius sounded so desperate that Hermione’s heart hurt on behalf of his suffering. She began walking toward the bedroom. Fleur stopped her forward progress with a warning look.

_ Fine. _ Instead, she called out calmly, “I’m right here, and I’m fine, although I’d like to know what’s going on!”

“I need to see her! Fleur, let her come out here!” Draco sounded equally upset.

Hermione caught Fleur’s eye, and the chaperone called back, “What is the significance of the place called Thuban?”

Immediately Draco answered, “It’s my eternal residence.”

Looking partially satisfied, Fleur countered, “And what of Lucy?”

There was a loud snarl from Lucius. “That is  _ not _ the correct question, Mademoiselle!”

Fleur was obviously placated by the odd conversation, and gestured for Hermione to follow her to the bedroom. “It’s really them.”

“Well,  _ of course _ it’s them! Honestly!” She huffed, knocking into her chaperone none too gently.  _ That’s for treating me like a weakling _ .

Fleur gave an unrepentant shrug. “Standard lockdown procedure.”

In the outer room, they found Molly standing defensively before the door and the Malfoys standing in the corridor, wand (and wand hand, respectively) aimed at the Weasley matriarch.  _ That’s right - they aren’t permitted to enter my room. _ They both looked somewhat relieved when she came into their view. Lucius held out his other arm in an unmistakable gesture, and she went quickly to stand between him and Draco. “What on earth’s going on?”

The only immediate answer she got was to be sandwiched between the two of them, Lucius in front with his back pressed to her, and Draco behind her and slightly to the right, his wand still directed toward the two witches in sight. Lucius demanded, “Which of your husbands fathered your eldest son, and what item of Gideon’s did you give to Harry Potter on his seventeenth birthday?”

Molly shot back quickly, “Septimus, and it was  _ Fabian’s  _ watch.”

Hermione felt Lucius relax the tiniest bit. “Mademoiselle Delacour, please approach.” She peeked out from under his upraised left arm to see Molly shift and direct her wand at the chaperone. Lucius continued, “Where did we dine last night, and from whom do you wish to receive an owl?”

Fleur answered promptly, “I ate here in the room, before your rune ceremony. My father.” At Lucius’ waved hand, she crossed to stand beside Molly. 

Molly looked over toward the dressing room. “All right you two, it’s your turn.”

Ginny and Luna appeared from the dressing room. Suddenly Draco pulled Hermione so that she was almost completely behind Lucius’ broad back. “We just saw Ginny downstairs. She arrived late.” Hermione wriggled against the hold her wizards had her in until she could just peek around Lucius’ right side.

Molly looked nonplussed. “No, she came with the rest of us an hour ago.” She turned to her daughter. “How many pearls are on the Prewett diadem?”

“There’s no such thing as ‘the Prewett diadem’,” Ginny said quietly. “Will someone please explain what’s going on?”

Luna wandered toward them at that point, a faraway look on her pretty face. “What an odd time for the narleywhickets to manifest again.” She looked toward Hermione. “’Mione, I saw your gifts just now. Ginny will do an extraordinary job.”

Hermione regarded her sweet, eccentric friend fondly.  _ Ten Galleons says no one’s even going to bother questioning Lu. She’s inimitable. _ She was correct.

Lucius finally spoke, his voice resonating through his body and traveling through Hermione’s own. “The wards went up automatically a few minutes after someone who looked like Ginevra Floo’d into my study. That means the intruder has tried to access a restricted area.”

Molly was already shooing the three other witches from the bedroom. “Come on, let’s stay together.” When they entered the corridor, the older witch grabbed hold of Draco’s arm. “Where are my boys and Harry?”

Draco and Lucius backed out farther into the hall, making room for the flow of bodies through the doorway but never relinquishing close proximity to Hermione. She lowered her wand, which had been raised at this point. The younger Malfoy replied, “They were in the formal garden not long ago. They won’t have realized anything has happened.”

_ So someone has entered the Manor disguised as Ginny. Whoever it is, he or she knows that Molly is helping with the wedding, and where the Malfoys keep - what? What’s kept in a restricted section here? _ “It’s someone who knows about the wedding, knows Molly is helping and that a visit from Ginny wouldn’t draw attention, and is acquainted with the Manor house intimately.” All eyes were on her, and she realized at some point she had begun to think aloud. Directing her attention to Lucius and Draco, she asked, “Who doesn’t want us to get married and knows where ‘restricted’ things are kept? And what kinds of things are restricted?”

The two wizards appeared to communicate wordlessly before Lucius answered, “Hermione and Fleur will stay here until the guard families arrive. They would have received a warning when the wards were raised and activated their Portkeys at once. The rest of us will begin a search of the house.”

Hermione was having none of that, and said so in no uncertain terms. “No. I realize that-“ As Lucius opened his mouth to interrupt she raised an eyebrow in warning, continuing, “I realize that your objective is to keep me safe, and that locking me in a small room at the top of the house seems to be the best way to accomplish that.  _ However _ , I’m not a damsel in distress. I happen to be quite handy with a wand, and intend to stay with the rest of you.” She let her eyes travel from Lucius, to Draco, and on to Fleur, adding, “If you attempt to do anything stupid, I won’t hesitate to stun any of you.”

Draco was frowning, and Lucius looked positively livid. Fleur, on the other hand, looked as though she was fighting to keep from smirking. When the three of them opened their mouths with the obvious intention of discussing it amongst themselves, Hermione decided to nip it in the bud. “It’s not open for deliberation. Now, let’s not just separate and search blindly before we think strategically.”

She turned inward, letting her mind do what it did best - gather the facts, lay them out, and analyze them. The process was such an inherent part of her that there was a physical reaction to it - her body began its accompanying habit of rhythmic pacing, fingers of her left hand drumming against her lips unconsciously. Slowly, her finely honed sense of concentration shut out all external factors until her mind was able to whir without distraction. “I think it’s obvious that Polyjuice has been used, which has a relatively short period of usefulness. This person might be seeking some magical item or perhaps a potion - something to help maintain their deception. The fact that they went searching for this . . . something . . . suggests that they haven’t brought any more with them.” 

As she mentally organized the data, it began falling into place. As she visualized the information, she vocalized it. “This, in turn, suggests that they know the manor so well that they know where to find what they need next. They’ll have no idea that the wards were raised because they haven’t tried to leave yet. This may be because they haven’t panicked yet, or because they feel secure in their hiding place. So . . . confident to the point of arrogance, familiar to the point of sloppy planning, and desperate to get into this house the day before our wedding . . .” She left the sanctuary of her mind to return to the corridor outside her bedroom, focusing on the faces of her wizards. “The only logical answer is Pansy Parkinson.”


	61. Thursday Morning

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha reader and final beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday Morning

“What?” Hermione looked from Lucius to Draco, puzzled by their expressions. Lucius’ countenance was still murderous, but some other emotion now warred with his anger. 

Draco, on the other hand, wore a look of admiration and lust. “And _that_ is how we won the war.” He glanced at the others nearby, gesturing toward her. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the Princess of Gryffindor.” 

Fleur hitched an eyebrow in mild amusement, while Molly nodded with approval from where she stood with Harry’s girls. “That’s our girl! We should divide into groups and begin searching any restricted areas of the house. Lucius, I think that . . .” Molly’s voice continued on, but Hermione lost her power of concentration when a pair of strong, pale hands pulled her a few steps away from the group.

Draco was regarding her with the same expression as before. It was slightly darker now, the lust winning over the admiration, and he leaned low so that his mouth moved against her ear. “This dress was designed specifically to torture, you wicked witch.” He raised a hand between them discreetly, stroking his finger back and forth over her pierced nipple. “The emeralds of your ring catch the light whenever you move. I’m having difficulty focusing on anything else right now.”

“Nnnngh.” That was the best she could manage, between his touches and words. Thoughts of Pansy Parkinson dissolved, and Hermione pushed into Draco’s hand as much as she dared in front of the others. _Not that any of them would mind if I wrapped myself around him and . . ._ her mind was becoming hazy, and it took a strong nudge from the covenant to clear it. She directed begrudging gratitude toward it and stepped away from her wizard. “We need to stop,” she breathed.

Draco nodded guiltily. “Forgive me. It’s far easier for me to concentrate on that than to think of you anywhere near _her_ \- if it is indeed Pansy.” He gave her a small smile tinged with worry. “I know you’re not a damsel in distress, but that doesn’t mean I want you looking for a fight. Can’t you just stay here please?”

She reached up and ran her fingers through the hair that hung slightly over the collar of his shirt. “Draco, I won’t do anything stupid and I’ll listen to the covenant this time. And I _promise_ you that I won’t be looking for a fight. It’ll be over before Trinket finishes setting out breakfast, and then we can talk about those services you offered to me earlier.” 

Her words had the desired effect. Draco’s body relaxed slightly, and he gave her a lopsided smirk. “Then I suggest we get this witch hunt started.”

The two returned to the group. Molly was just finishing, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, Lucius, but it makes the most sense. What do you think, Hermione?”

She blushed guiltily. “Errrrr, sorry - I was thinking about something else just then. Could you repeat the last bit?”

Luna piped up in her dreamy fashion. “We’ll divide into teams. That was the important part, wasn’t it?” 

Ginny nodded, and Hermione noticed her redheaded friend cast a surreptitious, nervous glance toward the elder Malfoy. Lucius hadn’t said a word since she’d shushed him a few minutes ago. Hermione tugged gently on his sleeve to get his attention. She led him a few steps from the others and pleaded, “Please don’t be angry with me. It’s not my intention to be difficult.”

He appeared to be having difficulty swallowing, and his jaw was clenched. Finally he answered, “That is _exactly_ what you are being at the moment.”

“ _Lucius_ ,” she implored quietly. Her grip on his sleeve tightened, and it only relaxed when he drew her into his arms for a fierce hug.

Her relief was fleeting, because then he leaned down and said quietly against her temple, “If you put so much as _one_ of these curls in harm’s way, I will discipline you with my own hand.”

Hermione’s eyes simultaneously opened wide in shock and glazed over, and she buried her face in the front of her wizard’s robes. The implications of his words sent a lightning bolt of arousal through her body that seemed to strike every nerve from her breasts down to the apex of her legs. _Lucius just threatened to spank me._ She squirmed a bit in his tight embrace as surprisingly erotic mental images of such an encounter sprang to mind. _I want Lucius to spank me._ The young witch shook her head in an attempt to clear it of a rapidly thickening lust fog. “Agreed. We should . . .we should . . .” _I sound breathless._

Obviously it was going to take more than a headshake to escape the fog. She pushed back from Lucius’ broad chest and worked her arms up and around his neck, pulling him down just enough that she could press one lingering kiss to his jaw. Before she was tempted to do more, Hermione broke from his arms and turned to address the group as a whole. “Right. We need to move quickly - by my estimation we’ve already wasted nearly ten minutes up here. I assume I’ll have to be with Fleur,” she looked toward her chaperone and at Fleur’s nod continued, “Molly and Draco can go together, and the girls can work with Lucius.”

The elder Malfoy growled audibly, grinding his words out from between clenched teeth. “ _No_ . You will be with _me_. Let’s go and get this over with.” He held out his hand imperiously towards her.

Hermione’s chin came up defiantly, and she opened her mouth to reply heatedly. At the last moment, though, she remembered what had happened the last time she’d done that - when she’d all but dragged him out of the bridal shower and accused him rashly of spying on her - and the lesson she’d learned. _No matter how angry he gets, he speaks to me respectfully._ Taking a deep breath first, she said, “I have to stay with Fleur, and each group needs at least one person who’s familiar with this house. That means you’ll need to stay with Harry’s girls.”

“Hermione is right - she comes with me. We are wasting time, Mr. Malfoy.” As Fleur spoke, there was a rush of light and motion a ways down the hall and several enormous men appeared and landed heavily on their feet, wands raised. 

The curly-haired witch regarded them with interest. _The guard families - the Crabbes and Goyles._ Even from this distance, she recognized the strong resemblance these men bore to Draco’s closest friends. The three men approached the group and nodded respectfully to Lucius, their faces stern and forbidding. The one who looked like an older Greg Goyle simply said, “Tell us what you need done.”

“There is an intruder in the Manor, possibly the young Parkinson witch. Not only is she an Animagus, but she may have used Polyjuice to alter her appearance. Use caution - she has tried to access a restricted area. Since our Bespoken one insists on joining the hunt, see to it that she doesn’t put herself in harm’s way.” He turned to look directly at Hermione, eyes narrowed in unmistakable warning. “Protect her at all costs.”

_Oh, for Merlin’s . . ._ _that’s just fantastic - now I have three more babysitters_. She glared back at her fiancé. “ _Fine_.” Hermione gestured to Fleur and the guards. “Let’s go.” She set off down the corridor at a brisk pace, suddenly eager to get away from Lucius for the moment. _He’d better be ready to make good on that spanking promise, because I sure as Merlin am not backing down!_ “He is _the_ most _overbearing_ , _overprotective_ , _over- . . . unreasonable_ man I have ever met!” They descended the curved, open staircase that connected the five floors of this part of the house. When one of the guards chuckled quietly, she glanced up with a sharp, questioning look. “Why is that amusing to you, sir?”

The man gave her a roguish smile that was eerily familiar. “I’ve never heard anyone dare to say that out loud, but it’s all true.”

She huffed. “He’s also insufferable! You’re, errrrrr, related to Vince somehow, aren’t you?”

The man nodded. “I’m Vincent Sr., his father. This is my brother Hugo, and that’s Gore Goyle. We’re proud to serve you, Lady.”

“Thank you.” As they reached the ground floor, Hermione stole a glance at the elder Goyle. “ _Gore Goyle_ is actually your name?” _That’s odd . . . but fitting for someone of his occupation, I suppose._ She fought the urge to snort.

The man shook his head with a smirk. “It’s Gregory, but no one’s called me that in years. Draco gave me the nickname as a wee one and it stuck.”

They paused as a group at the bottom of the staircase. Hermione reluctantly admitted, “Someone else is going to have to lead, as I don’t know my way around the Manor yet.”

“Where would you like to go? We could search the library, if you like.” Hugo Crabbe’s voice was so deep it was more of a rumble.

_Oh, no you don’t - that sounds like an attempt to keep me out of the way._ She searched for the authority to take control of the situation, and found it (ironically enough) by channeling Lucius. Lifting an eyebrow imperiously and staring at each one of them in turn, she said in a soft, dangerous tone, “Gentlemen, I suggest you take a moment to decide whether you’d like to work _with_ me or _against_ me. I assure you I’m not nearly as helpless as Lucius would have you believe.”

The three men had the grace to look guilty, and Vincent Sr. chuckled again. “It’s not that we think you’re helpless by any means, Lady, but we do value our hides. If Lucius wants you protected, that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

A part of Hermione wanted very much to melt into a puddle of goo at her elder wizard’s very traditional views on the care and keeping of a woman. It was obvious that his main concern was for her safety and wellbeing, and there was nothing wrong with that. No man had ever stood up to her so easily and forcefully, and if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, she’d been more aroused than angered by his dominant display. However the rest of her was divided between her inherent need to make her own decisions and an almost overwhelming irritation at Lucius’ stubborn refusal to recognize this. _This is something we’ll need to resolve together. After I get my spanking_ . _I wonder if he’ll . . ._ She shook her head to clear it. “And you can do that by staying with me at all times. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t want to be stuck in this house any longer than absolutely necessary. Where are the restricted areas and what’s kept in them?”

The guards shifted uncomfortably, but Fleur spoke up confidently. “I’ve been through all of them when I was here cursebreaking. There are four specific ones – a large closet near the Great Hall, a room off of Abraxas Malfoy’s salon, another near the portrait gallery, and the potions lab in the dungeons. They’re full of family relics and objects of power, and the potions lab is probably the most advanced private lab in England.”

Hermione blanched visibly at the mention of the dungeons, but focused on the facts given. “You said ‘specific’. Are there nonspecific restricted areas?”

“The whole Manor is full of secret passageways accessible only to members of the House,” Hugo admitted in a hushed tone.

She processed that information for several seconds. “Do many people know about them?”

Hugo shook his head vehemently. “No one but the guard families. They were designed for the protection of the Malfoys.”

“Alright. I assume people don’t get tours of the rooms and closets. That leaves the potions lab, which is probably open to visitors when Draco is down there working. Does that sound right?” At a nod from Vincent Sr., Hermione concluded, “We need to go there immediately.”

The three guards must have exchanged some form of silent communication, because Gore Goyle gestured for the group to follow him with a commanding motion of his hand. They proceeded quickly across the huge house, with Hermione flanked on her sides by Vincent Sr. and Fleur and at the rear by Hugo. Passing through the kitchens, she was surprised to see it bustling with the activity of not just one but _many_ house elves. “I thought Trinket and Bowly were the Manor’s only house elves, “ she whispered to Fleur.

The chaperone’s expression was patronizing. “Surely you didn’t think they ran this huge estate by themselves! They’re the two _in charge_ of the Manor, but they have help.”

Hermione would have loved to continue the conversation, especially if it involved knocking Fleur down a few pegs, but they were already exiting the kitchen and entering a familiar corridor that made her hesitate in the doorway. In her mind’s eye she recalled the last time she’d gone through it - bound and dragged by Fenrir Greyback and his thugs - and it sent a shudder through her body. She fought the impulse to turn back to the kitchens and felt a heavy, comforting pat on her shoulder. She looked up to see Gore smiling at her with an understanding light in his dark eyes. “You’re safe here. Greyback is locked away and the Lestrange bitch is dead.”

“She’s dead,” Hermione repeated in a dazed manner.

Gore shook her gently. “Darkness has been banished from this House, Lady.”

The covenant gave her a mental nudge so sharp that it almost hurt physically, and she snapped out of her befuddlement. She nodded gratefully, taking a deep breath. “Thank you.” The others were looking at her with concern, so she said with more certainty than she felt, “One bitch down, one to go. Let’s find her!”

When they reached the entrance to the dungeons, the guards closed ranks around Hermione. The five of them began descending the steep stairs quietly, aided by the strong light of regularly placed torches in wall-sconces. Shadows flickered on the walls around them, but Hermione kept her eyes on the back of Gore’s reassuring, hulking form just in front of her. At the base of the stairs, they paused, and Hugo gestured to a heavy door on their left. It was partially opened, and light spilled into the dungeon corridor. 

Once again communicating wordlessly, the three guards moved as one. Gore and Hugo placed themselves in front of Hermione, wands raised, and Vincent Sr. pulled the door completely open.

If Hermione hadn’t worked through every possible outcome of the situation on the trek across the house, she would have been every bit as surprised as her chaperone and guards. _Oh . . . . . . well, fuck. I probably should have told them this was the most likely scenario_. There, standing at a lab table with a look of complete innocence on her face, was another Hermione Granger. The guards hesitated in the doorway, and even Fleur glanced back and forth between the curly-haired witch at her side and the mirror image in the potions lab. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust, which seemed to satisfy the chaperone.

When the guards failed to move forward, Hermione slipped around them with her wand drawn. “Game’s up, Pansy. Step away from that cauldron.”

Her doppelganger turned a shocked, worried face to the guards. “Gore, Vincent, Hugo - that’s Pansy! Stop her before it’s too late!”

Hugo stepped forward, wand aimed at the cauldron-side Hermione. His deep bass boomed, “If you’re Hermione, how did you know who we were? We just-“

A burst of light shot from the not-Hermione’s wand, and Hugo’s enormous frame was caught in a full body bind. There was a brief moment of organized defensive movement on the part of the guards where Vincent fell back, conjuring a Patronus and magically dragging Hugo’s body to safety farther down the corridor. Meanwhile, Gore filled the doorway of the potions lab with his body and deflected several more hexes flung by the imposter. He parried with one of his own.

Hermione, who had been pulled to the side by Fleur, had taken a hurried inventory of the nearest bubbling cauldrons and trays of ingredients and cried out as loudly as she could, “Both of you stop at once! There are some highly volatile substances in that room! Pansy, for Circe’s sake, watch out for that-“

Not-Hermione had dodged a particularly strong hex sent her way by the guard, and in the process knocked a large, bubbling cauldron into another. The result wasn’t immediate, but an ominous purple haze filled the room and there was a crackling sound, as of gathering energy. There was just enough time to pull Fleur down and cast a Protego over their prone bodies as a massive explosion took out the wall beside them.

Time seemed to slow. Hermione gripped Fleur’s hand tightly in her own as she watched all manner of objects fly outward from the nucleus of the blast. Heavy chunks of stone, bookshelves, tables, cauldrons and the accompanying shower of whatever they’d held - everything that hadn’t been magically secured in the potions lab was now being expelled from it forcefully. Their shield was buffeted forcefully but held strong, although it did nothing to save their ears from the deafening sound. When the worst of the explosion was over, she exchanged a brief glance with Fleur. The Frenchwoman looked both calm and deadly. At her nod, the two girls stood and, alternating defensive Protegos against the onslaught of debris, looked for signs of the impostor.

_How odd that it’s so quiet._ Memories of previous battles came to mind; it occurred to Hermione that she’d been temporarily rendered deaf by the blast. Movement on her right startled her, and she whipped her wand in that direction only to find a dazed, injured Vincent moving his lips rapidly. She shook her head and indicated her soundless predicament, to which the guard pointed at her and Fleur, then firmly to the stairs leading back up to the Manor. More movement showed Gore slowly hauling himself out from under a heavy slab of stone. He staggered but began working his way through the mess, clearly looking for something. _Or someone._ Hermione shuddered at the thought that the intruder might not have survived the explosion. Vincent began his own search in a different section.

No sooner had the guards directed their attention elsewhere, than Hermione was nearly dragging Fleur toward what remained of the potions lab. The purple haze had thickened into a fog, and progress was slow. Eventually the two witches bumped into a heavy table and ducked beneath it. _This one must have been charmed to stay in place_ . Some sound was filtering through her ears now, and she strained to hear anything that might indicate that Pansy –because she was _certain_ that it was indeed Pansy - also might have escaped the blast unscathed. Gore and Vincent were audible now as they hunted through the rubble, and it was plain to see that at least one of them had lost their wand. There was a scraping sound coming from across the room.

The air was heavy with dust. Hermione released Fleur’s hand to cover her mouth with the skirt of her dress and instantly regretted it as the fog suddenly thickened. She swung her arm in a searching motion but found nothing. _Perfect - Fleur’s probably doing the same thing in the other direction._ She stilled for a moment, whispering hoarsely, “Where are you, Fleur?”

The only response came from the same direction as that scraping noise, and it was in the form of a nasty hex. Hermione dropped to her stomach as the table above her rocked from the impact, and she crawled away from it as quietly as possible. Whoever it was knew she was there. “Pansy, if that’s you, stop it! Lucius and Draco will be here any second, and your Polyjuice won’t last forever!”

Vincent was yelling now, and he sounded angry, but Hermione was focused only on determining the location of her enemy. She moved from the spot where she’d spoken, bumping into the leg of another table. Crawling under this one, she paused to listen. Her ears had nearly recovered, and all around her came sounds of movement - there was a quiet coughing to her right, and the noise of someone stumbling over the heavy rubble farther in the same direction. _That’s got to be Fleur and the guards._ _I’m moving clockwise around the lab_ . She tried to picture what the lab had looked like in the seconds before the explosion and then calculate where she might be. _Back center of the room? Somewhere near there, at least._ It would be foolish to begin searching for her chaperone in this fog. _Fleur’s perfectly capable of defending herself. I need to do the same for myself._ There had been a door slightly to the right, presumably a storeroom, and she crept toward where she gauged it to be.

Her own voice floated over the room to mock her. “No, _you_ stop it, Pansy! Now stay still so I can hex you into oblivion, you filthy little Mu-“ The sentence was left unfinished, and instead there was an undignified yelp. _Oh, yes - that’s most definitely Pansy Parkinson, and I think she’s just caught a hex._ More hexes from both directions rebounded off the surrounding surfaces. _Or narrowly avoided one._

Finally her fingers touched the back wall. Hermione began moving along it more quickly and soon found what she’d been looking for - the door. Turning the knob silently, she opened it and then retreated back down toward the direction from whence she’d just come. She called out again, “Would everyone please just stop!” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she flew back to the relative safety of whatever lay behind that door.

A particularly nasty curse hit the spot she’d just left, judging by the sound of it. As a volley of hexes from her own side ensued, Hermione slipped through the doorway and sought cover against the wall. A sudden memory from last week’s DADA class caused her to grin, and she ducked back out and fired off a hex of her own, certain that her choice would be effective and yet harmless should it hit a friend by mistake. She flattened herself once more against the inner wall of the storeroom and allowed herself a smug smirk when evidence of a direct hit manifested.

Pansy’s voice still sounded like that of Hermione Granger, but as it began babbling her true identity became increasingly clear. “Would you just stand still, Granger! Honestly, if you’d just gone away or _died_ like a good little Mudblood at any point in time I wouldn’t have to be doing this! You’re like this damned rash Ronald Weasley gave me - you just _won’t. Go. Away!_ What’s so special about you anyway? I’m . . .” Pansy continued on, punctuating her speech with wildly flung hexes. Hermione ducked out from the storeroom, wand raised to deliver another hex, when several things happened simultaneously.

First, and most obviously, the fog seemed to be sucked from the room. As the atmosphere cleared, she saw Draco had arrived and was using his wand as a siphon even as he looked around the room with desperate eyes. Near him stood Ginny and Luna, back-to-back and with their wands drawn. Molly was helping an awkwardly moving Hugo over the debris, and Fleur was walking toward the curly-haired witch with a look of disapproval on her dirty, beautiful face. Looking away hastily, her eyes finally found Lucius. He stood across the room looming over a rapidly reverting and still-babbling Pansy Parkinson in an ominous manner. 

She made a brief assessment of her current condition, finding not even a scratch on her bare, dust-covered arms and upper chest. Her face also seemed to be unharmed. _Well, there goes my spanking._ Hermione left the storeroom as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the scene unfolding in front of her. Draco caught sight of her and gave a visible sigh of relief. She walked into his wide-stretched arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. “Thank Merlin you’re safe,” she whispered into his shirt.

He tugged her head up gently by a handful of curls, looking down at her with disbelief. “Thank Merlin _I’m_ safe? What on earth happened down here?”

She gestured vaguely to the destroyed dungeon area. “Oh, errrrrr - you know, when two volatile substances are combined . . . I should have thought you’d know that by now.”

Draco looked as though he was trying not to smile. “Are you talking about _potions_ or you and Pansy?”

“I thought you’d be a bit more upset.” She couldn’t help but reach up and run a hand over the side of his handsome face lovingly.

He made a sound that conveyed both exasperation and amusement, and leaned down to murmur against the corner of her mouth, “I might be later, but right now I’m just . . . relieved.”

Hermione smiled against his cheek. “I should probably go . . .” She drew her head back and indicated the elder Malfoy with a nod of her head. Draco released her from his tight hold. She added over her shoulder, “Wish me luck.”

Pansy was still babbling away incessantly. Hermione watched in fascination as her wizard delivered the counter-curse with a violent movement of his hand and, when Pansy dared to speak, a Silencio. Lucius leaned down threateningly, snarling, “I told you once before to be _silent_.”

The reversion was complete and Pansy Parkinson as her own self now shrank before the elder Malfoy, pinned to the far wall at the waist by an overturned bookshelf. _That was the scraping sound I heard - she was trying to get out from under it_. Lucius was murmuring something - most likely a promise of something truly awful - in his silky voice, and Hermione sped up in order to hear. Pansy looked up at him beseechingly, but her pathetic expression morphed into something far uglier as Hermione approached.

Lucius turned to her, clearly assessing her condition from toe to head and back again. Seemingly satisfied, held out his hand imperiously. Hermione offered her left hand, watching him bow low over it and press a lingering kiss to the fading handmark. He raised his eyes to hers and drawled, “What on earth has happened to you, my prize? Your hair is awry, your makeup smeared, and your dress is positively filthy.”

Hermione bit back as much of her happy grin as she could. As playful as his words had been, his eyes had been saying something entirely different: _‘We will discuss this later’._ Still, he was happy to see her - that much was evident in the way he now drew her snugly to his side and wrapped one arm around her. When he continued looking at her expectantly, it became obvious he was waiting for an explanation. “We found (here she merely nodded to Pansy, not deigning to use even a pronoun for her) right away, there was an explosion caused by (here she glanced toward the offender), and a brief skirmish. But, as you can see, not one of my curls has been harmed, “ she concluded in a somewhat disappointed tone. _No spanking for me._

“Oh, pet.” He tutted, a disappointed expression crossing his face, “I believe my exact words were ‘if you put so much as one of these curls in harm’s _way_ ’.” He smiled darkly down at her.

Hermione’s body reacted instantaneously, and she blurted quietly, “Does that mean I can still have my spanking?”

Lucius, who had turned his attention back to Pansy, all but whipped his gaze back to hers. He must have liked what he saw in her face, because his grip on her waist tightened reflexively for a long moment and his pale eyes burned wherever they touched her skin. “I look forward to it. Unfortunately,” Here he cast a disdainful look back to where Pansy was watching them tearfully, “We have responsibilities to fulfill first. _I_ need to lower the wards so the St. Mungo’s team can come fetch their runaway, and _you_ need to bathe immediately, if not sooner.”

“I think I should help-“

“Ah, ah, ah.” He silenced her, shaking his head sternly. “You’ve had your fun for the day. _Bath. NOW._ ”

_He needs to assert his dominance - after all, I did boss him around not even an hour ago in front of everyone_ . _And he needs to take care of me as well._ She acquiesced with a tiny smirk. “Yes, sir,” then went up on tiptoes to add in a whisper, “Don’t push it.”

A subtle look of amusement flashed across his face and was gone, replaced by a wolfish grin. “Mind the claws, kitten, and see if you can’t clean up that dress. I haven’t had my fill of it yet.” His eyes wandered up and down her form one last time, and then he bowed to her, effectively dismissing her.

Hermione definitely wasn’t looking forward to being alone with Fleur just yet but she went to her gamely, trying to ignore the fact that her knickers were now soaked through. Or that every nerve in her body seemed to be feeding the ache that had begun in her core. _Lucius wants to spank me_ . _I’m going to be spanked by Lucius Malfoy._ She shook her head to clear it as she neared her chaperone.

“How do you feel about scrubbing off this gunk before breakfast?” To her surprise, the Frenchwoman only nodded, eyes looking everywhere but at her, and followed Hermione from the scene of the disaster. They began climbing the stairs to the Manor above. “Aren’t you going to scold me for allowing myself to be separated from you during the fight?” Fleur said nothing, so Hermione continued, “I’m sorry I let go of your hand. I’ll take full responsibility for all of it.”

“No.” Silence ensued for an entire flight of stairs before Fleur spoke again. “If anything had happened to you-“

“Mother of all magic, don’t you _dare_ start that! I am _not_ helpless. I am _not_ weak, and I am most certainly _not_ fragile!” She punctuated each of these statements by punching one tight fist into her other, open palm. “I have an Order of Merlin, First Class, and it wasn’t awarded posthumously! For Circe’s sake, _I’m Hermione Granger_!”

Fleur paused and took hold of her arm. “I know. You’re brave, and strong, and resourceful. That’s why it’s so important to protect you! If anything happened to you, I would have been lost - and I’ve only just met you. It would have been far worse for Molly, or Ginny and Luna.” She added softly, “The Malfoys would have been destroyed.”

Hermione was puzzled. “I don’t think I understand.”

Fleur narrowed her lovely eyes in displeasure. “Those qualities I mentioned - they’re not the only ones you have. You’re also kind-hearted, and open-minded, and honest. You befriended a half-Veela witch, for Merlin’s sake! You’re my _friend_ , Hermione - my _only_ friend. I don’t like the thought of losing you.” She hesitated, and then held her arms out awkwardly. 

It took Hermione a moment to interpret the gesture as it was intended, but then she hugged the Frenchwoman fiercely. “You won’t. Believe me - I’m extremely hard to get rid of. Ask any of my former professors.” They began climbing the stairs again, this time hand in hand. “Just for the record, I’m sure Ginny would like to be your friend. Luna, too - but she’s . . . well, there’s only one Luna Lovegood in the entire world. And you have to be open to pretty much . . . well, _everything_.”


	62. Thursday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for those I love so the muchest. Mr G brought home a bottle of château batailley cab sauv this evening; we can blame him for the late midweek upload of BW. I do love a flirtatious cab! And now here for you is the next ch of my big silly baby!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

__

Alpha reader and final beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday - Morning

Hermione decided she might never leave the decadent bathtub in her decadent suite. The bubbles were glorious, the redolent oils were exquisite, the water was piping hot, and Fleur had at last reverted to her daydreaming, slightly condescending self.  _ Just a few more minutes of peace. _ The curly-haired witch slid deeper under the bubbles, wincing a bit at the movement and then sighing in pleasure once more. She returned to her analysis of the most recent events of the morning.

_ When the two witches had emerged from the dungeons less than an hour ago, Harry had been waiting in the Great Hall surrounded by three anxious Weasley men. He’d pulled her into a long, rocking hug that conveyed every ounce of his love and concern for her. “What on earth is going on, ‘Mione? Lucius told us to search the grounds for an intruder and guard the dungeon door. We’ve had no idea . . .” _

_ Hermione gave a half-amused groan. “Pansy hid in the potions lab, blew it up, and then got caught. She’s down there with about ten wands aimed at her head.” _

_ Harry screwed his face into a grimace. “I can honestly say that I hate that witch.”  _

_ “Who doesn’t? I think she either escaped or checked herself out of St. Mungo’s. They’ll be Flooing to pick her up as soon as the wards drop.” _

_ Harry’s eyes darted to a point in the room behind her and he smiled softly. “Well, look at that.” They both turned in the direction of his glance to see a suddenly shy Fleur talking quietly with the men who had cast their stakes for her so recently. _

_ Charlie was holding her hand between both of his own and had raised it to the level of his mouth. He was speaking, and his lips were moving against Fleur’s hand. She was flushed and breathless, and her eyes alternated between dropping demurely and quick glances at him. When Charlie released her hand and stepped back, Bill took his place.  _

_ The eldest Weasley bowed low over the hand she offered him, maintaining eye contact with her until she blushed the deepest shade of red Hermione had ever seen, and her chest heaved as if she’d run a great distance. Bill said nothing, but Hermione saw him lean in toward Fleur’s neck and inhale deeply. He gave a feral grin and stood to his full height, never looking away from the entranced chaperone.  _

_ “I don’t know the exact rules of pre-consideration, but we should probably interject ourselves into that situation,” Harry murmured in a low voice. Bill seemed to hear that, because his head snapped in their direction. His eyes gleamed dangerously for a brief second and then he gave an apologetic smirk. Harry added, as if to himself, “Definitely a good idea.”  _

_ Percy stood the farthest away from Fleur, and his eyes were glued on her face, his mouth gaping open. When she finally looked his way with a radiant smile, his eyes fluttered and he swayed dangerously. Harry and Hermione approached the group, they heard Fleur say softly, “You must be Percy.” That’s all it took for the third-born Weasley wizard to collapse in a dead faint at her feet. _

_ That broke the spell. Bill and Charlie hauled their brother up between the two of them and brought him to the thick rug near the hearth, and Fleur seemed to gather her wits about her. She excused herself from her two conscious would-be suitors and returned to her duties as chaperone with a sigh. “Good morning, Mr. Potter. Come on, Hermione. We need to follow Lucius’ orders.” _

_ The curly-haired opened her mouth to argue that point when she felt a curious, light swooping sensation course over her body. “Did either of you just feel that?” At their puzzled faces, she tried to explain the odd feeling. _

_ It was Bill who supplied the answer. He and Charlie had left Percy and come to stand with them. “That’s probably the wards you’re sensing through the Malfoy covenant -- they must have dropped.” Sure enough, there was a cough of green flame from the enormous hearth and then several figures emerged, each wearing the uniform of St. Mungo’s healers. _

_ At the Weasley men’s approach, Hermione realized that the old comfortable relationship she’d always shared with them seemed to still be in place. Charlie gave her an impish smile and wink and his customary, “Hello, love.” She peeked up at Bill to find him nodding at her encouragingly, as if to assure her that everything was good between them. His eyes went to Fleur and back to Hermione, and they shared a look of contented understanding.  _

_ Their silent communication was cut short when an unmistakable, pompous voice announced nearby, “Lead Healer Tertius Flambolt of the Second Floor Emergency Response Team here at the request of Lucius Malfoy.” He raised the volume and intonation of his voice on the last two words as if dropping her elder wizard’s name gave him extra importance. Hermione gave an inward groan and turned toward the man who had treated her during the quarantine at school. He wore the same theatrical robes and imperious expression, and seemed to be directing his speech at Harry. Her brother-figure shrugged and indicated the witch beside him.  _

_ When the wizard finally deigned to look at her, she managed to say politely, “Good morning, sir. Pansy Parkinson is in the dungeon, awaiting removal by your team.” _

_ Healer Flambolt sniffed. “I will only speak to Mr. Malfoy. Tell him I’m here.” _

_ There was the sound of footsteps from behind them, and they all turned as one to see Lucius exiting the dungeon. His face was set in its usual unreadable mask, but Hermione saw the subtle shadow that passed over it. He moved to her side in his graceful, predatory way and looked her over, brushing a wayward curl from her face with one long finger. “Is there a problem, my prize?” _

_ A series of simultaneous thoughts occurred to her: first, that Lucius was effectively peeing on her in front of the Weasley wizards; second, that he could see most of her body through the engagement dress; third, that anyone who knew to look for the aura of her rune would know she had now taken it; and fourth, that Lead Healer Tertius Flambolt had just unwittingly offered himself up on the sacrificial altar of Lucius Malfoy’s wrath. The first thought made her irritated, the second sent a new rush of wetness to her knickers, and the last made her smile. “This man will only talk to you, Lucius.” _

_ “Indeed.” He glanced at the Healer and back to Hermione. Lucius drew her arm through his own, and led her toward Tertius Flambolt, keeping his eyes only on her. “This man won’t talk to my lovely bride-to-be?” _

_ The wizard in question began, “Mr. Ma-“ _

_ Hermione interrupted the Healer and held Lucius’ gaze. “No, he won’t, although I’ve told him that Pansy is being held in the dungeon.” _

_ Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Healer raise a hand indignantly. “Excu-“ _

_ “I wonder what he has to say that cannot be said to the future Mistress of Malfoy Manor,” Lucius mused with a frown that didn’t quite meet his eyes, brushing another curl behind her ear. “Can you think what it could be, pet?” _

_ An angry huff preceded Tertius Flambolt’s next attempt to enter the conversation. “I’m sta-“ _

_ “No, Lucius.” She bit back the smirk that threatened to escape. “He wouldn’t say.” _

_ Both hands seemed to be waving wildly now, although Hermione forced herself to keep her eyes locked with those of her handsome wizard. Flambolt all but shrieked, “MR. MA-“ _

_ “And you’re quite sure you told him that Miss Parkinson was being detained for his team in the dungeon?” Hermione didn’t have to look away from Lucius to know that the Healer standing ignored before them was practically vibrating with fury, and she simply nodded in response. Lucius continued in his deadliest purr, “I do hope he keeps better track of his patient this time. Such carelessness will inevitably be brought to the attention of his superiors.” There was a sputtering noise, which they disregarded. “I believe that’s settled, then. Come, pet. We have a small matter to settle in my study.” _

_ Suddenly he was leading her away from Flambolt, toward the group of people at the back of the huge room. She blinked. Small matter? “Errrrr . . . What about Pansy?” _

_ “That fool can figure it on his own, and if not he’ll have to ask someone else. I find him tiresome at best. Please wait here.” They were several paces away from Harry, Fleur, and the Weasleys now, and Hermione was relieved to see that Percy was now sitting nearby and looking up at his bespoke witch with adoring eyes. Lucius had a brief, hurried conversation with Fleur and then returned to her side, leading her out of the Great Hall. _

_ Hermione tugged against his hold on her arm, looking back over her shoulder once to where her chaperone was talking happily with the Weasley wizards. “What about Fleur?” _

_ They were exiting the Great Hall now, and Lucius quickened his pace. He looked down at her without relinquishing his grasp, easily propelling her along with him. “What about Mademoiselle Delacour?” _

_ “We need her with us, Lucius!” Hermione hissed, adjusting her short strides to his longer ones. _

_ “Nonsense.” He must have realized that she was having difficulty keeping up with him, because he slowed somewhat. He released her arm and let his hand run down her back, settling just above the curve of her bum. “I promised to leave the door of my study open.”  _

_ They were moving along a familiar outer corridor now. Lucius’ hand rubbed back and forth over her lower back. Rub, rub, rub. Realization was dawning, and it was sending wave after wave of arousal coursing through her entire body. “But she . . . We . . .” _

__

_ Lucius glanced down at her from the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching. “I was under the impression that someone needed a spanking very badly. Our chaperone seems to have recognized that a literal interpretation of the courtship rules will be highly inconveniencing to her at the moment. In light of the fact, she proposed a more traditional method. Have you changed your mind, pet?” _

_ Astoria’s explanation of her own chaperone’s practices came to mind, as did the fact that Harry’s loose rules hadn’t been questioned until the trouble with Ron. She noticed they had stopped outside his study, and that he was waiting for an answer. “What? No! I want to be spanked! I mean . . . that is to say . . .” Hermione blushed deeply even as she tried to rub her slender thighs together to ease the fantastic ache that had begun. Internally, she thought, ‘I do. I still have no clear idea why, but it’s true.’  _

_ Lucius leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. “Then I suggest we stop wasting time.” He stood to his full height and backed through the doorway, jerking her along by the arm playfully.  _

_ Hermione hadn’t expected it, and gave an involuntary girlish squeal as she tumbled into his arms. Her hands landed on the firm sculpted planes of his chest to steady her forward fall, but she needn’t have bothered -- Lucius’ were wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her tightly. He was leaning low again, pulling her into a tight embrace, and for some reason she thought she caught a glimpse of unshed tears in his eyes. But she was distracted by the fact that he obviously intended to kiss her, and when he finally did Hermione gasped with pleasure at the soft, loving movement of his lips. Then he broke away from her abruptly and, striding quickly to the nearest wall, punched it violently. _

_ “Lucius!” The contrast between the kiss and his next action was so disparate that for a moment Hermione was frozen in place with shock. She crossed the room, reaching out for the hand he now held in a tight fist. “Why on earth did you-“ Hermione looked up at him with confused concern even as she fished out her wand and performed a healing charm on the cut and already bruising flesh. She held his hand between hers, stroking it gently and never once looking away from his face. _

_ It was evident that he was trying to curb his emotions. His jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbed repeatedly, and he looked everywhere but at her. Finally he took a deep breath. “I beg you, forgive me. I am not always the master of my temper.” _

_ “Will you tell me why you’re upset, please?” Her voice sounded very small, possibly because the room was so large; it was more likely, however, it was because she had an inkling of why her wizard was angry. She ventured, “Is it because I disobeyed you again?” _

_ Lucius looked down at her, still visibly distressed, but he gave a choked laugh and squeezed her hand in his own. “I have never been so angry in my life as when you flouted my wishes earlier this morning, insisting on subjecting yourself to needless danger. Part of me is still very angry. You could have been hurt, or worse!” _

_ “Lucius, I’m not made of glass,” Hermione began softly, only to stop when he shook his head. _

_ “I am not a man to be ordered about, and I do not like to be disobeyed.” He stepped closer to her, looming above her with a dark expression. His hands came up to trap her wrists, and he began walking her backward as he spoke. Her backside bumped into his desk finally, and he pressed against her until she had to arch her back in order to hold his gaze. “But somehow the fact that my Bespoken one does just that,” He was leaning down, forcing her to lay back over the desk, bringing their joined hands up over her head, and his breath tickled her ear as he concluded, “causes my cock to stand to attention.” Hermione gave a quiet gasp as he nudged her legs apart with one strong thigh and brought his hips to hers, thrusting against her once, twice. “Can you feel how you affect me, my prize? Do you have any idea how much I ache for you?” _

_ “Lucius.” She wrestled against his strong hold on her hands, wanting to wrap them around his shoulders and pull him even closer. He refused to let go. “Lucius.” Her head was filling with a heavy fog of lust, and she was just succumbing to it when a thought occurred to her. “Wait, I don’t understand. Are you mad at me for disobeying, or turned on by it?” _

_ He narrowed his eyes and pressed his beautiful mouth into a thin line. “Both.” _

_ Those finely formed lips weren’t made for such a severe expression; Hermione tugged and tugged until Lucius released one of her hands briefly, and she ran her thumb over his mouth, caressing it until it relaxed into its natural shape. He took hold of her hand immediately and brought it back up above her head. “Is that why you punched the wall? Because you didn’t seem mad at all before then.”  _

_ Lucius sighed heavily through his nose and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I have been holding myself together by a thread since you flounced off with your chaperone and the guards.” _

_ “I didn’t actually flounce off! Errrrr, did I?” Hermione turned her head to catch his gaze. _

_ He chuckled quietly. “I believe your last word to me was ‘Fine!’ and you most certainly flounced. I would know, because I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You look quite tempting in this dress.” He leaned down again and trailed his lips along her neck. _

_ The fact that Lucius had laughed at all was reassuring to the young witch, but she clarified, “So . . . you’re not mad at me?” _

_ “I will always be angry when you act out your Gryffindor tendencies, but I will inevitably find them arousing, and admire you for them afterward.” Lucius released his hold on her wrists and traced her face with a gentle finger, leaning his weight on his other arm. “In my mind, I know that you are an accomplished witch, and capable of defending yourself. But my heart argues that there is only one of you, and even your skills might not be enough someday. Do you have any idea how many years I protected you from our enemies while helping them plot against you? Each battle there were so many variables, so much going on all around, that I was constantly reminded of how quickly you could be taken from me and Draco – and that was before you even knew us.” _

_ Hermione loosened the leather cord in his hair and let his long, heavy locks fall over her face. She ran her fingers over his scalp, watching his eyes close in pleasure. ‘He uses anger to fight fear, just as I do when I’m nervous,’ she thought to herself. Outwardly she said, “I’m not going anywhere, my love.” Then she sighed, “Lucius, you can’t control everything – especially all of my choices.” _

_ He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his own until she gave a little moan. “Would you be content if I promised to control only your poorer ones?” _

__

_ Her reply came out as a giggle. “Lucius!” _

_ He smiled down at her, but his eyes were still somewhat troubled. “I will not lose you, Hermione, and I make no apologies for prioritizing your safety over your immediate happiness.” He softened his words with another kiss, and this one was a patented Lucius tongueful – a push and pull of mouths that drew little noises from the back of her throat and caused her hands to fist in his hair. _

_ They broke the kiss to catch their breath, and Hermione gasped, “Does this mean you’re going to start locking me in my room every time the Floo network is activated?”  _

_ Lucius had already begun moving his mouth along her neck again, this time in a downward pass over the curve of her left breast. “Don’t be ridiculous, pet.” His free hand slid the strap of her gown from her shoulder, baring her to his admiring gaze. “It merely means you’ll wear a locator and have extra guards from now on.”  _

_ The only sound she made in response was a strangled sort of groan, because at that point his lips wrapped around her pierced nipple and did all kinds of lovely, torturous things to it. “Nnnnnngh.” _

_ Lucius’ hand reached around and grasped her backside, and his mouth released her tender flesh with a wet sound. He ran his nose upward over her skin until he spoke against her jaw in a silky murmur. “Do you have any idea what an enchanting creature you are, my prize?” She opened an eye to find him watching her closely. “Such a rare one – beautiful, brilliant, and headstrong.” He slid his hand lower on her bottom, pushing his fingers between her legs to rub along her seam through the delicate fabric of her gown. _

_ “OOOh- mmmmmmm . . . Lu-“ His legs held her against the desk and her dress trapped her legs, so all she could do was squirm ineffectively under his attentions. _

_ “I have spent the greater part of the past hour thinking about how much I would like to brand this glorious arse of yours with my handprint. And do you know why that is, pet?” He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on her bottom. _

_ It was obvious he was waiting for an answer. Hermione tried to remember how to speak. “N-n-no.” _

_ ”Because you are a naughty witch.” Lucius spoke against her lips, kissing her with his words. “Because the thought of being disciplined by my hand has had you wet and wanting the entire time.” He pushed his hips into hers again, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. “Because that knowledge makes my cock twitch.” _

_ It was the second time he’d spoken to her so crassly, and the bald language spoke directly to the throbbing ache in her sex. “Luciuuuusss.” _

_ Lucius chuckled darkly as he pushed up off the desk and loomed over her. The hand that had supported him went to her breasts, and he alternated between teasing her nipples and using his grip on her arse to pull her against him in a teasing rhythm. “It seems Draco was right, and our lovely one has a predilection for coarse language. Very well, pet – perhaps you would like me to tell you what’s going to happen now.” At her eager nod, he continued, “I’m going to bare your arse and turn you over my knee, and then I’m going to give you a spanking. I’m going to place you so that every blow from my hand pushes this pretty little pussy against my thigh. You will writhe and beg for every swat. You will keep count of each strike aloud, and after each one you will thank me. If you are a good girl and remember the rules, I will give you release. Are you still certain that this is what you want?” _

_ If he was trying to warn her away from the impending spanking, his words were having the opposite effect on the young witch. The fact that he had added rules for her to remember only heightened the effect on her body -- every nerve in her body was alight, and little flames of need began licking along them. “Please, please, please . . .” He raised himself to standing, as abruptly as he had left her in the doorway to punch the wall, and Hermione jumped up after him in confusion.  _

_ Her panic dissolved when she realized he was only shedding his outer robes and then she watched in fascination as he removed his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up over strong forearms. When he held out his hand to her, she took it eagerly, despite the fact that Lucius’ face had never been so dark. He kissed her again deeply. She was still breathless when he pulled away. “You have been teasing me all morning in this gown.” Lucius led her to his chair in his usual immaculate manner and sat down. He drew her between his legs, looking up and down her body with burning eyes. “How does it feel, to know that I am plotting your corruption even now, my lovely one?” His fingers traced up her legs in feather-light patterns, drawing the skirt of her gown up as he held the bulk of it in handfuls at her waist. “Slide down your knickers, if you please.” _

_ She did as she was told, dropping the scrap of lace into his expectant hand, and then he was guiding her body over his lap, just as he had described. Hermione found herself draped across his thighs, the leg nearest to Lucius on the outside of his and her other one against the inside of his knee. The angle meant that her head rested partway on the arm of the chair and partway against his side. True to his words, the position meant that every nerve ending between her legs was stimulated, and the young witch gasped. ‘Sweet Circe, this is really happening.’ The feel of Lucius’ large palm on her backside interrupted her internal monologue. He caressed the bare skin lovingly for a moment and then paused. “Hands over my thigh, and head down. Do you remember what you are to do?” He must have felt her nod against his side, because he murmured, “Are you ready?” _

_ “Yes!” Just then Hermione caught the scent of her wizard and became so quickly lost in it that the first soft slap across her buttocks elicited a yelp of surprise from her. Recalling her instructions, she managed to gasp, “One. Thank you, Lucius.”  _

_ “Good girl.” He smoothed his hand over her bare backside, pushing her down to rub against his leg slightly. His fingertips barely brushed against the wet skin between her legs, sending goose bumps over her body. “And so wet already. By the time we have finished, you will have soaked through my trousers, pet.” _

_ The soft wool of his trousers scraped softly against her spread outer folds and between that and his words, Hermione was distracted again. She was startled by the next slap, more so by the noise than the sensation. Quickly catching herself, she remembered to say, “Two. Thank you, Lucius.” This time when he caressed her, his fingers trailed over her seam for a slightly longer moment, and she couldn’t help but moan. _

_ They went on like this until she had counted to ten, each slap slightly harder than the one before. Hermione realized that the harder the slap, the harder she was pushed against his leg. The harder she was pushed against his leg, the more his wool-covered leg teased her now-throbbing clitoris. She hadn’t slipped up her counting yet, nor had she forgotten to thank Lucius for each strike, and eventual orgasm was a forgone conclusion when Lucius seemed to freeze above her.  _

_ “Fucking hell . . .” He was smoothing down her dress, and pulling her up to a sitting position and explaining in a quiet, ragged voice, “Someone is coming.” _

_ ‘And it’s not me,’ Hermione thought bitterly, hiding her flushed face in the nook of Lucius’ shoulder. It was obvious that Lucius was as frustrated as she, judging by the pole lodged in his trousers and the look of annoyance on his handsome face. Suddenly Draco appeared in the doorway. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, no thanks to our preoccupied chaperone. By the looks of it, she’ll be in the Great Hall all . . . what did I interrupt?” _

_ The moment he’d caught sight of the younger Malfoy, Lucius had begun to relax. For Hermione the next few seconds were almost surreal, as he answered in his lazy drawl, “I was giving our witch her first spanking. She’s positively wet and begging for more.” Lucius drew Hermione’s face up to his and kissed her deeply. “Care to join the lesson, Draco?” _

_ He was crossing the room, his grey eyes darkening to a stormy shade. When he reached their fireside chair, he knelt down in front of them. “That all depends on what Hermione thinks of the idea.” He was regarding her with such intensity that she responded in kind -- grabbing at the front of his robes and pulling his face to hers for a burning kiss. When they broke apart, Draco spoke against the corner of her mouth. “I’d love to.” _

_ In just a few more seconds, she was back over her elder wizard’s lap, this time with a welcome audience. Draco’s presence only added to her aroused state. Lucius described in detail the efficacy of the position, his hands rubbing over her bared arse again, and Hermione tried to keep from writhing. He continued to speak as he had with just her, using coarse language that aroused her yet further. As before, every move she made, every flinch, caused her swollen, throbbing clitoris to rub against his hard leg. “Ah, ah, ah. No squirming, pet.” _

_ Hermione tried to remain as still as possible, but finally the torture of delay and suspense was too much. She growled, “Enough talking, Lucius!” _

_ He gave her no warning, and it wasn’t a gentle swat by any means. The force of the strike sent a pulse of pleasure through her entire body. “Gaaah! Eleven!” He soothed the sting with gentle caresses until she relaxed. His fingers dipped down between her legs again, drawing a moan from her. “Mmmmmmm. Thank you, Lucius.” _

_ “Draco,” Lucius ignored her, speaking instead to her other wizard. “Don’t be rude. Talk to our witch.” _

_ Her younger wizard’s voice was suddenly in her ear as he knelt by her head. “Oh, little witch. You like this very much, don’t you?” Without warning, another strike landed on her arse, and this one pushed her against Lucius’ leg hard enough to make her forget not to squirm, and she moved against his thigh until she remembered the rules. Draco had slipped a hand under her torso and was now fondling her breasts, his mouth pressed to her temple as he murmured, “The sight of your long, bare legs spread over his thigh, Hermione . . . you’re dripping down his leg . . . the noises you’re making . . . Merlin, sweetheart, but you’re going to be the death of me.” _

_ So much happening simultaneously, but thankfully Hermione was the brightest witch of the age. She was able to keep track of each word and sensation, even as that increasingly familiar, all-consuming coil began winding tightly deep within her gut. “Twelve! Thank-” _

_ Lucius was rubbing her arse again, and then as his fingers slipped through her slick folds, he joined in Draco’s conversation, “Soon there will be no restrictions on us, pet, and I will be able to do this the right way, with my fingers buried deep within this pretty pussy.” He gently pinched the hood of her clitoris, causing her to buck against his leg. The coil strained within her. _

_ “- You, Lucius!” She groaned, turning her face into Draco’s. He caught her lips with his, pushing his tongue into her mouth with a moan. _

_ Their kiss was broken by the next slap, which made Hermione grunt in pure pleasure. “Thirteen!” She was teetering now, ready to come apart at any time. Lucius seemed to know this somehow, because she had barely thanked him in a strained voice when he struck her again with his palm. “Oh! F-f-fourt-teen!” Every part of her seemed to be vibrating, and she realized that it was because she was trembling. Out of nowhere the next blow landed, and it pushed her over the edge of her orgasm. “Fifteen! Fifteen! Oooh, Lucius! Fifteen!” Her small cries sounded almost agonized to her own ears, and she collapsed over Lucius’ lap in a state of boneless euphoria. _

_ After a while she felt Lucius caressing her backside, as he had between slaps. He seemed to be speaking to her, but at the moment it was just a pleasant sound. A few minutes of languor passed, in which some hands rubbed her bare skin and others ran through her curls. Finally, Hermione sighed and returned to the room. She pushed herself up to stand, steadied by her wizards. Then, she straightened her skirt, grimacing slightly when the fabric moved against her arse. _

_ Lucius wore a faint, satisfied smirk that only broadened when she attempted to move. She shot him a withering look, made slightly less intimidating by the wince that followed it. He chuckled as he stood, and Draco followed suit.  _

_ Despite the burning of her bum, that spanking had been exactly what her imagination had promised. The pain was minor compared to the fantastic pleasure of the experience – the hour of anticipation, Lucius’ filthy seduction, and then the actual physical pleasure. ‘Merlin’s broomstick – I’m getting turned on again just thinking about it!’ Out loud she said, “Thank you, Lucius.” _

_ “It was my pleasure, pet.” His eyes were twinkling at her in a way that made her knees weak. As one, the three moved together so that the young witch stood between the two wizards, and their arms wove around her possessively. Hermione raised her arms high to their necks, drawing them down so that she could kiss each of them. There was an erect penis pushing into either side of her, and she blushed, dropping her eyes, even as she smirked knowingly. “It seems I’m not the only one who enjoyed that.” _

_ Lucius chuckled and Draco made a strangled sound, but just then they were interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps in the hall. “Yooohooooo! Hermione, you have five minutes to finish up your visit and meet Fleur in the Great Hall. It’s nearly nine o’clock! Time is wasting!” Molly’s voice rang out in its usual motherly tone, the one that brooked no argument, but she didn’t peek her head into the study. _

_ Hermione sighed, falling back against Draco’s chest. She felt his hands settle on her stomach and drift upwards to her breasts. “Please tell me that the house will be empty of everyone but us after the wedding.” She tugged at Lucius’ shirt, pulling him down for one last kiss. _

_ Her elder wizard was holding himself back. He controlled the kiss, keeping it light and breaking away far too soon for her liking, and ran his eyes up and down her figure one last time. “I assure you it will. You need to bathe, lovely one.” _

_ It occurred to her that Lucius seemed preoccupied with the notion of getting her into a tub, but she filed that thought away for later and turned in Draco’s arms. He was impatient for his kiss. In his haste to pull her close, Draco accidentally cupped her sore buttocks in his large hands. He released her quickly when she gave a sharp hiss of pain. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart!” He looked down at her with concern and added, “You know, that can be easily sorted.” _

_ “Oh, Draco.” She sighed his name against his lips, which were already pressed to hers. It started as a sweet promise, built quickly, and ended as all their kisses did -- with both of them wrapped around each other, using their limbs as leverage to get as close to the other as possible. When they broke apart to breathe, Draco reluctantly let her go and reached for his wand. _

_ “Absolutely not.” Lucius shook his head sternly at Draco, who shrugged in a guilty way but acquiesced with a nod. To her, the elder Malfoy said, “Do not even think about a healing charm, Hermione.” _

_ The order rankled her, and she only narrowly avoided putting her hands on her hips. Her tone was incredulous as she asked, “Why on earth not?” _

_ “Because I want for you to have ample time to measure the value of your freedom to make such choices against that of sitting comfortably. I will send a bottle of ointment to your room with Trinket to use after your bath.” He rolled down his sleeves and handed her his cufflinks expectantly. “And there is also the fact that my handprint is clearly visible through your dress, and I plan to admire it the entire way back to the Great Hall.”  _

_ She gaped at him for a moment and then fastened his cuffs. Honestly, she’d known all morning that the original intent of the spanking had been discipline – she’d defied Lucius openly, and this was his way of reminding her of his sovereignty. ‘Completely worth it for both of us,’ she thought smugly, ‘and a game I plan to play again just as soon as (here she winced again) I forget about the burn afterward.’ Out loud she simply said, “Yes, sir,” and helped him into his outer robes. _

_ Just as he said he would do, Lucius followed behind Hermione and Draco all the way to the Great Hall. Her younger wizard managed to drag out the short walk impressively, even pausing several times to pull her as close as humanly possible for a quick, hungry kiss, but eventually they reached their destination. There, they separated reluctantly to help Molly separate her sons from Fleur and to hunt down Harry and his girls.  _

_ Hermione found her ‘brother’ and his witches in a small storage room off the Great Hall. Thank Merlin they had shut the door (the curly-haired witch was half-tempted to tell them how proud she was of them!), because she was sure that neither her chaperone nor Ginny’s brothers would have appreciated the show. The three of them had managed to lose at least half their clothes in the relatively short amount of time Hermione had been gone and Harry had Ginny over his knee, giving what in Hermione’s opinion was a poor imitation of a good spanking. Luna sprawled nearby, obviously already satisfied. He finished just as Hermione approached, and she couldn’t help but critique what she’d just seen. “That’s not how Lucius does it. Ginny would enjoy it far more if you positioned her-- What? And what’s with this morning’s preoccupation with spankings, anyway?” _

_ Her three friends were looking at her with varying expressions – Ginny with interest, Harry with shock, and Luna with her usual dreamy smile. It was Ginny who finally broke the silence, answering in her usual matter-of-fact way, “All self-respecting wizards spank their witches. I always get one when I make Harry worry. And how do you know how Lucius does it?” _

_ Hermione backed up several steps and turned to go. “Errrrr, got to go find Fleur. Are you coming or not?” _

_ Ginny looked at Harry with a smirk. “Apparently not this time. Give me a minute to find my clothes . . .” She began sifting through the pile of garments nearby. _

_ Harry was still regarding her with shock. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on – I wasn’t going to stay innocent forever. And if you play your cards right, I’ll show you what you’re doing wrong . . . someday.” Ginny was pulling her shirt over her head and tucking it in with one hand while shaking her knickers right side out with the other. She was dressed and had her hair smoothed a few moments later, but Luna was still lying on the floor half-dressed. “Are you staying here, Lu?” _

_ The sweet blonde witch beamed up at her. “I think I’ll ride Harry for a bit, but thank you for asking.” Hermione turned hastily, afraid of receiving more information, when Luna added, “Oh, my – that’s Lucius’ handprint, isn’t it! It’s so very large!” _

_ That was enough to have Hermione bolting (albeit stiffly) from the corner, dragging Ginny with her. “See you at breakfast!” _

_ As she was dragged along, the redhead demanded, “What handprint! So help me, you tell me what’s going on or I’ll get it from you the hard way, ‘Mione!” _

_ They were approaching the larger group across the room at this point, and Hermione hissed, “I promise to tell you whatever you want to know in my room, but if you embarrass me down here . . .” She left the threat hanging, hoping it might be more effective that way. _

_ Molly had just managed to extricate Fleur from her boys, and shoved her rather unceremoniously toward Hermione and Ginny. “We’ll just see you girls at breakfast! Bye-bye!” She was making furious shooing motions, while behind her Bill was all but snarling at his mother and Charlie was smirking boyishly. A quick glance showed Percy still sitting nearby, mouth still curved in an adoring smile. _

_ Ginny muttered, “Fine. But I want to know EVERYTHING.” To Fleur she added, “I cannot even believe you were smiling at Percy.” _

_ The trip across the Manor and up to the suite was nearly silent, between Fleur’s daydreaming and Hermione’s promise to Ginny. The moment they were through the doors, though, her friend erupted into her usual bossy, inquisitorial self. Hermione had shut it all down with one look, saying, “We have a schedule to keep. I’m getting in the tub, and I really need your help cleaning this, because I want to wear it for the rest of the day.” _

_ Ginny was looking at the dress with a frown. “It’s lovely, but there’s nothing special about it. Surely you can-“ _

_ “No, I cannot. Can you help me, Gin? Please” _

_ The redhead relented. “Fine, but as soon as this gown is cleaned up I’m coming in there and you’d better be ready to talk.” _

Through the open door to the dressing room, she watched Ginny give the dress one last good shake, the steam cleaning charm her clever friend had used on the engagement gown complete. Hermione gave another sigh, and this time it wasn’t one of pleasure.

  
  
  



	63. Thursday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings! Much love and many wishes from me for your good health and even better spirits during these trying times. This chapter is guaranteed to keep your full attention whilst you read it. Screw the pandemic! Vive la . . . whatever it is one calls fanfiction in French! We shall survive and thrive so long as we can each scrape together a few precious minutes each day to read the creative works of our online friends. Cheers!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

__

Alpha reader and final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday Morning

  
  


“Alright, ‘Mione. Time’s up, start talking. I want to know everything that I’ve missed since the shower yesterday!” Ginny stood in the doorway of the bathroom, arms crossed and face set in a replica of Molly Weasley’s  _ don’t-mess-with-me _ look.

Hermione allowed herself one last sigh before acquiescing to the inquisition. She wasn’t sure at all how she felt about sharing the most recent things she’d been up to with her wizards.  _ I’ll go slow, and stay within my comfort zone. She won’t know if I omit some things.  _ “Very well. After you left, Draco and I went to the library to research-“

“ _ The good stuff _ , you twit!” Her redheaded friend crossed to the tub and plunked down on its edge, leaning over Hermione in a threatening manner. From the far end of the enormous tub, Fleur snorted delicately.

“I’m getting to it! Honestly, don’t you have any appreciation for backstory?” Hermione ignored Ginny’s intimidation tactics and slowly rinsed the conditioner from her hair, enjoying what power she had in the situation. “Obviously not. Fine, abbreviated version: Draco admitted he liked traditional runes – as in, rings – and-“

She was interrupted by a series of shrieks. “Merciful- . . ! Mother of- . . ! Hermione Jean Granger, you  _ cannot _ skip over a thing! Now, go back and start at the beginning, and tell us  _ everything _ .”

The blushing witch couldn’t decide if she should be irritated or amused, and finally settled on the latter. _ There’s no getting out of this, is there! _ “As I was trying to say before: after you left, Draco and I went to the library to research . . .” The story of the library trip took much longer this time, especially in light of the fact that Hermione was definitely stalling. She shot Ginny a withering glare each time she shrieked or tried to interrupt. 

Surprisingly, Fleur participated in the narrative several times. As Hermione described the brief stop at the very top of the library staircase, the chaperone interjected with a deep blush, “Then they began to plan their christening of the library. It was really . . . hot.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the normally reserved blonde. “I didn’t realize you were paying attention, Miss Daydream! And speaking of hot, I couldn’t help but notice the interaction between you and those three wizards in the Great Hall.”

Fleur closed her eyes, her blush taking an even darker hue. She ducked back under the water and emerged with a smile. “It’s true, what they say – it’s as if we’ve been made for each other.”

“What about the twins?” Ginny’s voice sounded almost sharp, although Hermione recognized her friend’s main emotion as concern. “Don’t forget, there are two more men in the family, and you haven’t even met them.”

The chaperone nodded, an uncomfortable look passing quickly over her lovely face. “I promise you that I will give each of your brothers equal consideration, if my father even gives their stake precedence . . .” her voice trailed off, and she questioned softly, “Where is he, and why hasn’t he responded to anyone?”

“Let’s not worry about what we can’t change, Fleur. Trust the covenant – the Weasley magic wants you and, if it’s anything like that of the Malfoy family, it’ll get you.” Sensing a need to redirect the conversation, she reached for a terry robe and added, “And speaking of Weasleys, I’d say Bill’s inner wolf approves of you!” She looked over her shoulder at Ginny as she stood from the tub. “You should have seen him, Gin – he actually sniffed her!”

The comment had the desired effect – Fleur giggled and Ginny snorted. “He’s a latent lycanthrope, and Charlie’s a dragon keeper – it figures those two would need a witch with some magical creature blood running through her veins – but what about Per- Hand of Merlin, Hermione!” Ginny’s hand arrested the fall of the robe around Hermione’s body, baring her backside to the redhead’s inspection. “Obviously you have a  _ lot _ more to tell us!” Hermione whirled around, tugging at the left side of her robe, which was held firmly in the redhead’s grasp, and the end result was that her friend saw . . . pretty much everything. “Circe’s left tit!”

Ginny’s expletives caused the curly-haired witch to pause for a moment. “So  _ that’s _ where those expressions come from. Huh.” She secured her robe, then noticing the glazed, heated look in the redhead’s eyes, asked half-heartedly, “I don’t suppose you’d rather know what Fleur thinks of Percy . . .”

Ginny wavered, glancing between the other two witches with narrowed eyes. “Well, actually I do.” She pinned Fleur with a warning look. “But I’ll get back to that  _ after _ you explain the fact that you have both a handprint on your arse and a traditional rune! The Malfoy wizards work  _ very _ fast.”

Affronted on their behalf, Hermione rushed to her wizards’ defense. “Lucius and Draco let me go nearly the entire two-week engagement without my rune  _ because _ they didn’t want to go too fast. I had to pretty much drag the information out of Draco, and in the end it was me who wanted a ring.”

“And the spanking?” Ginny’s eyebrow was raised, giving her a cynical expression. “Don’t tell me you fought for that, too!”

_ Oops. I walked right into that one _ . “Errrrr . . . “ she hemmed, blushing nearly as dark as Fleur had in the Great Hall earlier. Reaching inwardly for a fortifying helping of Gryffindor courage, she came across something far more effective: a tiny blossom of pride in this new part of herself. It caused her to straighten her posture and return Gin’s direct stare. “Actually, I did.” She leaned close to her friend and whispered, “And I  _ liked _ it.” Then she blushed deeply.

If Ginny was shocked, she hid it well. In fact, the only reason Hermione was sure it was so was because her friend blinked slowly several times and then turned to Fleur, seeming to forget she hadn’t heard anything at all about the rune ceremony or the events leading up to Hermione’s smacked arse. “What about you and Percy?”

The lovely chaperone had followed Hermione out of the tub and now stood nearby, wrapping her hair in a towel. She gave a genuine smile that highlighted her full lips and perfect teeth. “Bill is intense, and Charlie is charming, but Percy – Percy is very sweet, and . . .” here her sweet smile warped wickedly, and suddenly her Veela heritage peeked out at them. “I would like to tie him up and spank him. He has the face for it, you know?”

“Wh . . . wha . . . what?” Hermione gasped, torn between shock and amusement. 

Ginny wore an expression of surprise. “Oh, Fleur – you and I may have more in common than I thought!” At Hermione’s questioning look, she simply said, “She’s a switch witch.”

“I don’t even . . .” The curly-headed witch made her way to the dressing room, her friends on either side of her.

Fleur shrugged, looking very self-conscious all of a sudden, and twitched an eyebrow in her direction. “Sometimes I wish to be controlled, other times to control. I don’t expect you to understand, as you seem to like being dominated by your wizards all the-“

Hermione cut her off. “Hold it right there – I don’t let them boss me around!”  _ Much _ . “And ‘switch witch’?” She sat down with a wince at her dressing table. The hot bath had felt marvelous as long as she stayed still, but now her backside was feeling decidedly tender.

“No, we know you’re your own witch, ‘Mione. What she means is that you like to  _ let _ them be in charge – especially when you’re  _ together, _ if you know what I mean,” Ginny offered with an exaggerated wiggle of her eyebrows. “It’s just a term used for women who like to alternate between being the dominant sexual partner and the more submissive one.” 

She thought about that as she began to get ready for the second time that morning, smoothing her curls with Sleakeazy’s potion and wand drying them.  _ It’s true – I do like to let them take charge. It’s liberating not having to make all the decisions and be the responsible one all the time. And I know they care so much for me that most of their decisions are based on my desires and well-being. _ Lucius was by far the more aggressive of the two, but Hermione suspected that Draco was made of similar stuff under his gentler exterior. _ I like that they know what they want, and that they’re aggressive about getting it. _ “I see. I can’t even  _ imagine _ trying to dominate Lucius.”

That got a loud snort out of Gin, who was rifling through the nearest closet. “He’d put you over his knee for even thinking such a thing! Oh, I gave these to you as a shower present – wear these today.” She held aloft a pair of knickers that seemed to be constructed entirely of a few pink ribbons.

Hermione smirked, knowing full well that her elder wizard would never lay a hand on her unless she allowed him. It wasn’t something she wanted to advertise, though, as it was part of the game. In fact, the thought of Lucius giving her another spanking sent a jolt of desire through her system, and she decided it was time to think of something else. “Sure, Gin. Just set them aside.” She turned to Fleur. “So basically you like Percy because he’d let you be in charge.”

Her chaperone, who was seated on the couch slathering lotion on her long, pale legs, nodded. “That, and he has beautiful eyes.”

“Just remember, you haven’t met the twins yet,” Ginny reminded her sternly. The blonde witch nodded. “I can’t imagine what’s so important that it’s keeping them from meeting you.”

The young witch was glad to see the two of them talking so easily. Ginny Weasley could be a hard nut to crack, but somehow Fleur had managed to get through her defenses in record time.  _ I wonder if I had anything to do with it. _ Thought of being such a positive influence made her smile. Just then her stomach growled loudly. “Is anyone else starving, or just me?”

“I am, too,” replied Ginny, “I want  _ real _ food – and lots of it.” Fleur hummed in agreement and began drying her long hair.

Hermione nodded, wondering what was on the menu and then deciding to take charge as she was supposed to do. “Trinket!”

The housekeeper appeared instantly, as if she’d been waiting for the summons, and she held a small bottle in her hand. “Here is the Lady’s balm! Master says to-“

“Yes! Thank you very much!” She avoided looking at Ginny, who appeared to be trying not to laugh. “I’ve got it.” Her stomach growled again and she continued, “Trinket, in light of the morning’s . . .  _ events _ , perhaps we should have brunch instead of just breakfast – something a bit more sustaining. Will you please see to it?”

The house elf lit up, clasping her hands ecstatically. “A Mistress with powerful magic, who defeats her own enemy and keeps the House dining schedule in mind – oh, Trinket has never served such a perfect witch!”

“Errrrr, thank you.”

Trinket’s ears dropped a fraction, and a concerned look washed over her face. “The Master would not be pleased with Trinket for that.”

“Why ever not? You didn’t say anything . . .” Hermione trailed off at the house elf’s suddenly abject expression. “What’s wrong, Trinket?”

“ _ Master _ defeats the enemies of this House,” The little creature whispered worriedly.

Hermione’s smirk couldn’t be contained. “Oh,  _ really _ . Well,  _ Master _ was nowhere near the wand fight this morning when  _ Lady _ defeated the enemy.” This only seemed to bother Trinket more.  _ Sweet Circe, I’m going to have to . . . _ Out loud she said sternly, “Trinket, as your future Mistress I forbid you to tell Lucius any part of this conversation. Ever.”

A look of awe crept over Trinket’s odd little face. She nodded, whispering, “Never was there such a perfect one.” Snapping out of her daze, she added in her normal happy tone, “Yes, Lady! “  _ Did she just wink at me? _ _ Gracious and merciful Merlin, I am in cahoots with a house elf against Lucius Malfoy. _ “Brunch will be served in twenty minutes!” 

The housekeeper Disapparated with an enthusiastic crack, and Hermione turned back to her friends with a satisfied smile. “Well, then – let’s get going!” She applied a few beauty charms, much to Ginny’s approval, and slipped into the skimpy knickers thrown at her head by her friend (after applying a liberal coating of the soothing balm Lucius had sent). It brought back a recent memory, of leaving the Headmaster’s office to find Ginny and Harry going at it like rabbits in heat at the base of the stairs.  _ I threw Ginny’s knickers at her just like that _ . She glanced at her and found the redhead grinning, probably with the same memory. Another thought struck her.  _ How does Ginny have any knickers left, with all the tearing and throwing that Harry seems to enjoy? _ It wasn’t much different than her own problem – the fact that her wizards seemed consumed with the idea of stealing hers at every opportunity – and she said so to her friend.

“It’s simple – just use a sticking charm,” offered Ginny. She was rifling through another closet. “Are you sure you want to wear that boring taupe thing? I mean, it’s very tasteful and expensive looking, but . . .”

_ I’ve told her pretty much everything else – how hard is it to say that it’s nearly transparent to my wizards? Right. _ “It’s an heirloom engagement gown, and yes I’m wearing it.” She picked up the dress, silently asking her friend for help putting it on.

Both Ginny’s and Fleur’s faces morphed into impressed understanding. “Oh, well you should have just said so.” Ginny gathered up the flowing skirt and held over Hermione’s head.

She slipped out of her robe and let the gown flow down her body, navigating the delicate straps carefully. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fleur go to the closet holding her own clothes and take out one of her modest black dresses. “Speaking of which, how do you think Lu was able to see through it? She saw my red bum and-“

“I wondered what she was on about!” exclaimed Ginny. “Well, I guess I’m not really surprised – since she got pregnant she’s been all kinds of spooky. She makes predictions at the drop of a hat, and she’s right every time! I guess she’s seeing through enchantments as well.” She just shrugged as if to say, ‘ _ well, that’s Luna for you.’ _

Hermione offered curiously, “She’s made two comments about you and my gifts, and then another about tonight.”

“What gifts?” Ginny zipped the dress closed in the back. “Here, Fleur – let me help you with that tie.”

Hermione felt a surge of anxiety and tried to fight it down. “I realized I don’t have wedding gifts to give Lucius and Draco, and I was planning to ask you to go shopping with me and Fleur in Diagon Alley this morning. Obviously that didn’t happen, and now it’s occurred to me that Lu was trying to tell me something.” She scrutinized Ginny, pondering her friend’s best attributes.  _ She’s generous, hard working, and creative _ . “You’re the most creative witch I’ve ever met – what kind of gift can I give in this short amount of time?”

Ginny blushed under the warm praise. “Let me think about it. If Lu said whatever it is will work, then I’m sure the idea will come to me in time. Now for the love of Merlin, can we  _ please _ go eat?” She began walking to the outer room.

Fleur was just tying her hair back in a hurried braid, following the redhead as she did so. A few days ago, it would have irked Hermione no end that her chaperone could put so little time into her appearance and reap such a fantastic result, but now she was grateful. Hermione took one last look in the looking glass. She could see the naughty knickers plainly, and wondered how long it would take one of her wizards to feel the need to confiscate them.  _ Right – sticking charm! _ With a grin at Ginny, she lifted her skirt and aimed her wand at the handful of ribbons, fastening them to herself.  _ Let’s see what they think of that. _ Then, dropping the skirt and smoothing it down with gentle hands, she hurried after her friends.

They arrived at the Morning Room a few minutes early to find it empty of people. Further inspection showed that Molly and her boys were on the veranda, and the three witches joined them. Bill all but prowled over to Fleur, his eyes glinting dangerously in the late morning light, and began talking in an intimately low tone that invited no interruption. Ginny went to her mother, who was talking with Percy, and Hermione looked around for a moment before spying Charlie leaning against the side of the Manor. She went to him, not wanting him to feel left out. “Hello again, Ch- errrrrrrr, Mr. Weasley!”

He grinned at her and threw in his customary wink. “Morning, love. Get all the dungeon dust out of your knickers?”

She snorted indelicately. Charlie was . . . Charlie. “Wow, I forgot what a silver tongue you have. Is that how you’ve been wooing Fleur?”

“Of course. That, and telling her about the dangerous life of a dragon keeper.” He looked over her shoulder, acknowledging someone behind her with a cocky lift of his chin, and then returned his startling blue-eyed gaze back to hers. “I’d be happy to fill that insatiable mind of yours with dragon lore, too, if you’d like.”

_ His eyes are gorgeous, but they’re the wrong blue.  _ She conjured up a mental image of her wizards’ eyes for comparison and found them infinitely superior – Lucius’ glacial blue, and Draco’s ever changing ocean hues. Outwardly Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. “In other words you’ve been relying on your looks and charm.”

Charlie was looking over her shoulder again and by the way his eyes were tracking, whomever he was watching was approaching them. He grinned again, cutting his eyes to her as he replied in a slightly louder voice, “Are you saying I’m handsome and charming, ‘Mione?”

She felt a hand wrap around her waist and pull her back against a lean, hard-muscled body. “Hello, little witch.” Draco’s head came down beside hers, his husky voice murmuring at an intimate pitch. Hermione turned her head to catch his gaze, but he seemed to be locked in some kind of staring contest with the redheaded wizard in front of them. 

She continued her conversation with Charlie. “I’m saying you’re incorrigible, and you should know that Fleur tends to have a low tolerance for nonsense.” Draco’s hand moved from her waist to her stomach, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the base of her sternum. It was a fairly innocent hold, almost sweet, and yet Draco’s tense body behind her spoke of an entirely different emotion. Hermione fought the urge to shiver. She’d encountered jealous Draco before and found him incredibly arousing.

Charlie chuckled, unintimidated by the show. “Easy, cousin -- you’ve won her already.”

Draco wasn’t abashed at having been called out on his possessive behavior in the least. His hand slid up until it nearly cupped her breast as he straightened to his full height and replied cockily, “Exactly. And now I’m claiming my prize. Will you excuse us,  _ cousin _ ?”

“Why not – I might find a prize of my own somewhere around here.” The redhead grinned confidently and wiggled his eyebrows, eliciting another snort from Hermione. He pushed off the wall and headed toward the far edge of the veranda, where Fleur was listening intently to whatever Bill was saying.

Draco slid his hand down and around to the small of Hermione’s back and, with gentle but unyielding pressure, guided her to walk with him. “Would you care to see the maze before brunch, Miss Granger?”

“Draco, that was a bit unnecessary,” she said in a reproving tone. “You  _ know _ Charlie is like a brother to me, and that we were just talking.” They were heading away from the veranda now, across the lush lawn.

“Wrong on both counts, sweetheart,” he countered with a dark expression on his handsome face. His free hand sought hers and he wove their fingers together.

It was a very good look for Draco, and for a moment Hermione was distracted from his words as she drank in the sight of him. Then her brain caught up to her hormone-addled body. “Wait, what?” 

He led them to the opening of the maze, pausing to brush his hand, entwined with Hermione’s, against the nearest hedge. “Hold on.” Draco seemed to sense a reaction from the huge privet, because after a moment he continued on into it. It was obvious he was taking her someplace specific, the way he cut through sections quickly. “It was necessary, and none of the Weasley men think of you as a sister. Until Fleur’s father gives their stake precedence and she in turn accepts it, they will continue to regard you as a Bespoke Witch – especially because there are five of them, and she can only choose up to four. They’d be fools not to.” His hand ran up and down her side, pulling her against him as they walked. “Duels have been fought in similar situations.” 

The perfectly manicured hedges rose high above their heads, cutting out the sounds of the nearby veranda. Hermione broke from Draco’s side, pulling her hand from his. “But I’ve taken your rune – I wear your ring!”

He caught her hand again easily, pulling her around one last corner to a tiny courtyard with a fountain. A stone bench stood near it. “And if anything were to happen to both Lucius and me, you’d be free for the pursuit.” 

Hermione was shocked by his insinuation. “Surely you’re not suggesting . . . They’d never!” She glanced around, failing to notice that Draco had stepped close in front of her until his hands settled on her shoulders.

“No, they wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean that they’re not thinking it. Hermione, their covenant wants a Bespoke Witch and will remind them of the fact until one accepts them.” His fingers traced patterns on her bare skin, sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. “You’re not their sister, and don’t forget it. Now,” he plied her mouth with one teasing kiss, “I have a job to do.”

It was a lot to think about, but right now she simply wanted another one of those wonderful kisses. Her brain was quickly filling with a fog of lust, which was already impairing her thought processes. Hermione followed his retreating lips, trying to capture them again. “What job?”

“Stop talking.” He kissed her again, this time holding her head in place with one hand as he moved his mouth against hers. Draco’s lips sucked and nipped hers, and his tongue pushed repeatedly between them to mate with her own. Hermione’s entire body responded eagerly, desire spreading through her limbs and causing them to wrap around her wizard. Meanwhile, his other hand had run down her back to grip her backside.

“Gentle!” Hermione gasped against his lips, wiggling her bottom away from his hand. “It still smarts!” 

She felt his mouth move into the shape of a smirk. “Shall I make it feel better?” he murmured. Draco let go of his hold on the back of her head and dropped both hands to her hips, towing her along as he walked backward to the bench. He sank down onto it, drawing her to stand between his legs. 

He moved his attention to her neck. “We should head back to the- Draco!” The last word was practically yelped. Hermione barely noticed he had worked her skirt up to her waist until he grasped one of her legs behind the knee, bending it, and yanked it over his own so she half-straddled him.  _ Mother of Magic, I want him right here and now.  _ She struggled against the desire to surge forward and push her hips against his. 

“Nonsense, we have at least ten minutes.” He was still holding her skirt up in one large handful, and now he was looking down at the pink ribbons charading as a pair of knickers with heavy-lidded eyes. His other hand traced the edges of the grosgrain fabric almost reverently. “I want these.”

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his once more. “Mmmmm.” He was breaking the kiss, dropping his mouth to her neck and then down her clavicle, over the curve of her breast. Her brain finally interpreted his last sentence. “No.” She pushed the strap of her gown off her shoulder and directed his head to her bared nipple without conscious thought, groaning as he closed his lips around it.

His hand was pushing between her legs, fingers rubbing back and forth until she squirmed and gasped with pleasure. He gave a tug on one of the ribbons and when it didn’t budge, released her nipple and let his cool breath fall over the wet, sensitized flesh. “Give me your knickers, little witch.”

Hermione grabbed a handful of his soft, pale hair and, none to gently, tried to bring his head to her other breast. “By my calculations I’ve lost six pairs just this week, Draco. These are . . . oooh . . . staying on. Nnnnnngh, yes, please. Don’t stop.”

He was toying with her pierced nipple now, flicking it with his talented tongue and then nibbling on the erect peak. He looked up at her through his thick, dark blond lashes. “No, they aren’t. They’re coming off right now.” Draco sat up straight and drew her against his torso. Hermione didn’t even realize she’d climbed the rest of the way onto his lap until he growled and grabbed her hips, grinding his erection along her seam. “You owe me, sweetheart.”

“No I- Gaaaaaaaah.” She momentarily lost all motor skills as the physical thrum of desire intensified even as her brain whirred to life, working out how she was indebted to him.

Draco elaborated in a murmur against the corner of her mouth, strong fingers still tugging at her knickers, “I stayed up all Monday night brewing potions for you, and you said you’d make it up to me.” He moved her against his hard shaft again and added roughly, “And I want your knickers.”

If Hermione hadn’t been caught in such a maelstrom of want and need, she might have seen the humor in her nineteen-year old fiancé’s almost childish attitude. However, she was unaware of it as she squirmed in his lap and pressed her mouth to his. In that moment, she would have given him the gown she was wearing if it meant that he would keep touching her this way. When his hands left her hips to cup her bare breasts she said breathlessly, “Fine. Second level Sticking charm. But you owe me some knickers, Mr. Malfoy.”

He must have used the counter-spell wordlessly, because she felt the ribbons relax, and then the fingers of one hand slipped under them to move through her slick folds. Things unraveled fairly quickly at that point. Draco groaned, and the sound went straight to the places he was touching. Hermione nearly tumbled from his lap in her haste to rid herself of the knickers, and a wild-eyed Draco gathered her in his arms and pushed her flat down on the stone bench. He was hovering over her, his hips just coming to rest between her spread legs, when the far off sound of a bell ringing insistently cut through their bubble.

Draco froze. Then his expression became absolutely pathetic and he dropped his head to the bench beside Hermione’s for a moment. He was muttering something that sounded like a string of extremely foul words, and Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. He looked at her incredulously, and she just shook her head with a frustrated smile. 

Draco came to his senses at that point. He sprang off her, helping her to her feet and righting her gown. “Merlin, sweetheart – I don’t know what came over me. Please accept my apology, I-“

Hermione silenced him by pulling him down for a chaste kiss. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do, Draco. I just wish I had better self-control around you.” He looked as though he was about to disagree with her, so she added, “If you feel that badly about it, you could always give me back my knickers.”

He stuffed them into his pocket and grinned cockily, the effect only slightly ruined when he winced and shifted uncomfortably. “I thought we agreed they’re mine.”

“Do you need a minute before we start back?” As much as her own body was screaming for release from the built up tension, she couldn’t help but think it must be far more unpleasant for Draco, who had a veritable pole lodged in his trousers. “I could talk about Arithmancy.”

He gave her a loving smile that made her heart feel as though it would burst with happiness. “Yes, please.” Draco took the hand she offered in his much larger one, and the two set off toward the Manor as Hermione waxed eloquent on the finer points of Arithmantic ethics.

They arrived back on the veranda just as everyone else had begun filing through the door, and exchanged looks of satisfaction at their excellent timing. As they entered the Morning Room a stray thought crossed her mind, and she asked quietly, “What job did you have to do, Draco?”

Draco looked down at her, an arrogant smirk on his handsome face as his eyes moved over her face. “Nothing that needs mentioning. Come on, Lucius looks impatient.” He led her to the large round table where the elder Malfoy stood tapping his elegant cane against the back of a chair.

The elder Malfoy was looking at her with an approving air as he kissed her hand, and then he shared a private, satisfied look with Draco that made Hermione instantly curious.  _ He certainly likes what he sees, so it can’t be that I have something on my face . . . _ “Is there something I should know?”

One was drawing out her chair and the other was directing her to it, and within seconds she was seated with a napkin in her lap. “You look radiant as ever, pet.” Lucius addressed the gathered guests, who were still milling about in small groups. “Will you join us?”

There was a brief moment when she caught Percy glancing her way with an odd look on his face and she looked away quickly to find Charlie doing the same thing, but then Trinket began serving the first course, and she forgot about it. Small conversations went on around the table, and snippets carried across the wide circle. Lucius sat on her left as seemed to be his custom, and at some point his right hand had come to rest at the juncture of her thigh. The size of his hand meant that it encompassed a great deal of that limb – the palm draped over the top, and all four fingers settled deeply between her legs. Hermione tried to ignore the fact that his pinky finger was nearly between her lower lips, and kept her focus on food and faces. He seemed to be having a riveting conversation with Luna and Harry, who sat to his left.

Meanwhile Charlie regaled his half of the table with the mating rituals of Norwegian Ridgebacks, much to everyone else’s amusement. Fleur hung on to his every word, and Molly looked equal parts over the moon at the recent turn of events and utterly appalled at her second-born’s roguish conversational style. He turned to the blushing blonde witch at one point and asked with a devilish smile, “Did you know a female dragon will purr if you touch her in just the right spot?”

“Charles Arthur Weasley! You mind your manners at the table!” Molly’s relatively quiet shriek of disapproval got even Charlie’s attention, and he apologized by way of a good-natured grin and shrug. Fleur seemed to have difficulty breathing at that point, and Percy leapt from his chair with astonishing grace, racing to her and filling her water goblet. Hermione couldn’t help but think how much the twins would have enjoyed commentating the odd spectacle, and turned her attention to the last bite of pastry on her plate with a small grin.

Trinket was just directing the serving of the second course – smoked salmon crepe and some heavenly sort of prosciutto mille-feuille pastry – when she sensed more than heard a disturbance to her right. There was a fig sauce being passed for the pastry, and Draco was in the act of holding it out to Bill, his right hand nearly under the other wizard’s nose. Bill had tensed, his nostrils flared, and he was looking at Draco murderously. His voice was fairly civil, though, as he rumbled, “ _ Cousin _ . There’s no need for such tactics.”

“You don’t like fig sauce?” Draco, on the other hand, sounded smugly happy. “I was certain you would. I must admit that it’s a favorite of mine – I’d have it on everything if I could. If you’re sure, though . . .” Her wizard returned the sauceboat to the table near his plate.

Hermione murmured in a low tone, “What’s going on, Draco?” 

She watched as the smirk on his face morphed to an expression of almost suspicious innocence. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” He leaned toward her, brushing her cheek with the fingers of his right hand. “Just doing my job as host.”

His touch was tender, and Hermione leaned into his hand with a small sigh of contentment. As she inhaled against his skin, though, she caught the distinct, lingering scent of her own arousal on his fingers and her eyes widened in comprehension.  _ He said he had a job to do, and then he kissed me silly and touched me. Lucius was pleased because I looked like I’d just been snogged – that’s what Percy and Charlie noticed. And Draco knows Bill’s senses are heightened, especially around the full moon – he wanted him to know that we . . . Circe, Mother of Magic . . . _ She swung her head back towards her younger wizard, eyes narrowed in annoyance, and opened her mouth to retort, when his words in the maze came back to her.  _ He’s defending what’s his, and I’d do the same if there were another girl who was interested in him _ . At the edges of her awareness the covenant seemed to purr softly. Hermione’s scowl softened into an amused grimace, and she leaned closer to whisper, “Consider your job done. Bill doesn’t want fig sauce.”

Draco grinned and dropped his mouth to her ear, moving his lips against the lobe. “ _ I  _ do. I want it all the time.” As he drew away, he added, “And he never said he didn’t want it.” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully and draped his long, strong left arm over the back of her chair, letting his fingers brush over the bare skin of her shoulder.

Hermione was grateful when Trinket announced the third course, and attacked her steak roulade with gusto. It was nice to have something to think about other than the fact that her younger wizard had just taken a turn hosing her down with his testosterone. Lucius had been attentive throughout the meal, despite his apparently engrossing conversation with Luna and Harry, and now he turned his complete attention to her. “Try this, my prize.” He held his fork aloft, waving it in her direction.

“What is it?” His plate looked different than hers, and Hermione deduced that she’d missed some of the dishes during her brief bubble with Draco. She opened her mouth and leaned toward the proffered forkful eagerly. “Mmmmmmmmm. Soooooo good, Lucius. More, please.” She looked at him expectantly.

Amidst the ongoing conversations there was a cough from somewhere across the table, but she barely heard it as Lucius picked up the next bite of egg and toast with his fingers and pushed it into her waiting mouth. Rub, rub, rub. His fingers wiped the crumbs from her lips in that sensual rhythm to which she’d been conditioned. She closed her eyes and squirmed in her seat as her body responded, only to find that her movement had drawn the fingers of his right hand yet further into her folds, the delicate fabric of her gown the only barrier between them. “What a hungry little witch you are.”

Hermione opened her eyes to find Lucius grinning down at her wolfishly. She was pondering how rude it might be considered if she were to climb onto his lap when Ginny leaned and caught her attention. “‘Mione, I’ve got it!” 

She forgot about the hand between her legs and bolted forward to see around her elder wizard. The change in position sent a jolt of sensation to her already throbbing flesh, and she gasped. Recovering quickly, she addressed her friend. “About the . . .  _ thing _ we talked about?”

Lucius began to move his fingers in a deliberate rhythm over her clitoris and at the same time engaged Charlie in conversation about his recent transfer to the Welsh dragon reserve. Ginny was beaming broadly. “We can talk about it in your room after the meal.” She called across the table to the chaperone, “Did you get that, Fleur?”

The Frenchwoman nodded and jumped slightly in her chair. Hermione had only to sneak a peek at Charlie’s naughty smirk and Fleur’s blushing smile to know that he had managed to touch Fleur in a less than innocent way, but it was hard to see much of anything because of the height of the table, the ornate centerpiece of flowers, and the tablecloth.  _ I wonder if it’s completely open season until the consideration, or if Charlie’s just going to push the boundaries. Well, it is Charlie . . . _ Just then Lucius added a few more less-than-innocent touches of his own, and Hermione tugged at his sleeve. She murmured, “Please stop, Lucius. You’re driving me crazy and I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of everyone.”

His eyes were twinkling down at her, but he nodded and slid his hand to a slightly more appropriate place. Turning to address the rest of the table, he said, “I wonder if any of you would like to see the rose garden. I’m sure we can arrange for the last course to be served there, if anyone is still hungry.” As he spoke the last words his eyes trailed down to Hermione, and she blushed deeply.

There was a chorus of agreement, and Fleur seemed especially excited. “You must see the golden roses – they’re bewitching!” In her eagerness, she grabbed hands with both Bill and Charlie, only to drop them like hot coals when she realized what she’d done. 

As they began to leave the table, a small owl fluttered though the French windows and dropped a letter onto Hermione’s plate. Draco offered the bird a piece of steak as she opened the parchment. It was from Astoria, and simply read,

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ My wedding shower is at nine o’clock this morning, and I hope very much that you are able to attend. I am very sorry for such short notice, but I spent all of yesterday in restraints and was unable to send it earlier. _

_ Much love, _

_ Astoria _

_ P.S. Agamemnon just returned with this note unopened, and so I hope that everything is all right at Malfoy Manor. I am sending him again with orders to wait for a reply. _

“He wouldn’t have been able to get through the wards earlier,” remarked Draco, feeding the bird a piece of steak. “You can write a reply in Lucius’ study while the others are in the garden, if you like.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her to where Lucius stood a few steps away. 

They walked across the Manor in the way that was becoming customary for them – Hermione’s left arm drawn through Lucius’ right, and Draco’s left on the small of her back. Around them pleasant conversation continued, interspersed with suggestive comments from Charlie and an ongoing list of delegated chores from Molly. Harry looked ridiculously happy, but then again he was walking with two beautiful women who both seemed to have a hand down the pockets of his trousers. Percy was glowing as he talked to Fleur about his job at the Ministry, and Bill talked with Lucius about the current exchange rate at Gringotts. Once again Hermione was reminded of how lucky she was to have good friends and an entire family that considered her one of their own. _ And my wizards! Merciful Merlin, I‘m going to have my own family now. _

The others followed Fleur into the rose garden and were instantly transfixed as a large group by the rosa expugnator. All except for Luna, of course, who turned to look at Lucius approvingly before she wandered out into the garden on her own. 

Hermione set to work on her letter right away; at least, she did as soon as she’d batted both of her wizards away and ordered them to leave her alone until she was done. It was a short note – Draco looked positively pathetic as he watched her from his place on one couch, and there wasn’t much to say except that she was sorry and that an unwanted visitor had caused the wards to go up. She sealed the parchment and handed it off to the owl, watching it fly out the French windows and over the enchanted group of people in the garden. “Whatever happened with Pansy this morning?” She asked neither wizard in particular as she went to them.

Draco tugged her impatiently down across his long legs, and she curled up against him with a happy sound. Lucius was watching them from his chair on the other side of the hearth, and Hermione beckoned for him to join them. He complied, answering, “The fool took her back, and she won’t get out again. Apparently he ignored the fact that she was an Animagus the first time.” He sat beside Draco and reached a hand to run lightly down from her throat to the curve of her breast. “She’ll finish her treatment and face charges of malicious destruction of property from the Ministry.”

Since the rune ceremony Hermione had become increasingly aware of a desire to share time with both of her wizards at once, in both social and more intimate settings. Images from the previous evening had replayed in her mind on a loop, and she knew her wizards seemed to feel the same way. They’d initiated several situations in which all three of them were in some form of sensual embrace, and this moment felt similar. A wave of arousal washed over her. “That’s good.” She lifted one arm to wrap around Draco’s neck behind her and pulled Lucius down for a kiss with the other.

Draco groaned, and the sound vibrated through her body in a fantastic way. His hands wound higher around her torso and found her breasts, kneading and catching her nipples between his fingers in a slow, torturous rhythm. Hermione pushed into his touch just as Lucius pushed his tongue between her parted lips. Her younger wizard was murmuring huskily against the top of her head. “This gown leaves nothing to the imagination, sweetheart, but I still want to take it off you. Would you mind if I did that, Hermione? If I laid you bare to our eyes and hands?”

She made a strangled sound, and Lucius pulled away with a satisfied look. He ran his eyes down to where Draco’s hands still moved. “Perhaps we should wait for a more opportune moment for that. For now, will you let us see our rune?” Hermione nodded in a dazed sort of way, dropping her hold on their necks and pushing the straps from her shoulders. Draco drew the delicate fabric down as Lucius watched with heavy-lidded eyes, his hands returning to their former positions as soon as he’d accomplished the task. 

While Draco’s fingers worked her breasts, Lucius’ silky voice worked various other parts of her body. “Draco, have you ever in your life imagined such pretty, round tits? Do you find yourself in a constant state of wanting to touch and taste them? To pluck at them until our witch cannot contain the sounds of her pleasure?”

That was happening right now. Hermione moaned their names in no particular order and tipped her head back so that she could kiss Draco. She felt Lucius push his brother’s hands away, felt Draco’s protest against her lips, and then an overwhelming jolt of pleasure as Lucius pinched her pierced nipple between two fingers. It caused her to break away from the kiss with a wild sound. “Nnnnnngh!” 

As was often the case with her brain, it whirred to life at an inconvenient time. A thought had cut through the haze in her mind, and now her curiosity reared its head. She tried to control her ragged breathing as she asked, “Why does it feel different?”

Draco tugged her head back and captured her mouth again easily. “Hmmmmm?”

Hermione broke the kiss again and sat up, taking each of her wizards’ still-wandering hands in hers to keep their attention. “When you touch my rune, it feels different.”

Their interest was piqued, although both were still wild-eyed. Lucius reached out and stroked a finger over the rune, sending a powerful jolt of pleasure straight to her core. “Gaaaaaaaah!” When she was able to open her eyes, she found him watching her intently.

“My turn, sweetheart,” said Draco, and he repeated Lucius’ action. Hermione smiled as the much subtler but still pleasing sensation traveled through her body. Her younger wizard had been observing her expression closely and his face fell slightly. “It doesn’t feel nearly as good, does it?” 

It had been more of a statement than a question, but Hermione rushed to reassure him. “It just feels different! Less . . . powerful. But maybe that’s how it always is?” She cast a glance at Lucius, who looked thoughtful. “Lucius?”

He looked between her and Draco for a few long moments, and then stared at her left breast. “I know nothing of this rune, as it has only chosen one other bespoke witch – and she was the first Wife to the House of Malfoy. Perhaps it has preferences in magical signatures.”

Pulling her straps back to her shoulders and righting her bodice, Hermione peeked at Draco from the corner of her eye. It looked as though he was schooling his features into an expression of acceptance, and she turned back to Lucius with a small frown. “Is that common?”

He returned her expression, standing from the couch as he did so. “In truth, I have no idea. Perhaps I should pay a visit to Grand-père Louis.” At her confused look, he added, “The keeper of the Malfoy runes.”

_ Oh, the painting that wouldn’t speak to me _ . “Right now?”  _ Because I wouldn’t mind going back to what we were doing before . . . _

Her wizards seemed to be far better at compartmentalizing than she was, because Lucius had already lost his previous wild-eyed look, and Draco had flopped back onto the couch in an obvious fit of melancholy. The elder Malfoy was looking at the younger one with a concerned look. “Yes, I believe I will do so at once. Draco, will you please make my excuses to our guests?”

“Of course, Lucius.” 

Hermione watched Lucius leave his study and crawled back onto Draco’s lap, straddling him and standing on her knees so that she was looking down at him. “I’m sorry. Should I not have said anything?” At his lack of response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. “Why does it matter if it feels different, anyway?”

Draco looked up at her, a wretched look marring his handsome features. “It matters because  _ I _ want to be the one that makes you sound and look like that when  _ I _ touch your rune.”

“You do, Draco!” Hermione kissed him again, trying to convey the depths of her feelings. “And it’s only that one part that’s different. When you touch me . . .  _ every place else _ . . . it’s every bit as powerful.” She fought the blush that was creeping up her neck.

His head dropped back on the couch. “You don’t have to humor me, Hermione.”

“Oh, Draco!” Hermione couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped at his desire to sulk. “You silly snake.” An idea struck her, and she ran a hand down his marvelous chest to his tight stomach. 

She trailed her fingers along the waistband of his trousers, dipping them under the soft wool fabric until he opened his beautiful eyes and raised his head. “What are you doing?”

Hermione adopted the ridiculously innocent expression he’d used on her at lunch. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” One forefinger fiddled with his trouser button. “If you pout like that much longer, a little owl is going to come along and build a nest on your bottom lip.” She sucked said lip between her own, even as her fingers wriggled farther beneath his waistband. “The covenant doesn’t seem at all concerned about it, Draco. And anyway, I have a feeling Lucius would move a mountain with his bare hands to make you happy. Let’s not worry about it right now.” She kissed him the way that he had kissed her earlier in the maze – with a hunger that built slowly.

Draco’s mouth twitched under hers, as though he were trying not to smile. He pulled away, murmuring, “I know what you’re attempting to do, and it’s not going to work.”

She pulled away and grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Malfoy.” The button of his trousers slid from its hole, and she used both hands to work his zipper down. Finding a rapidly tenting pair of boxers below, she admitted, “I also have no idea what I’m doing right now.” Her heart was racing, and Draco’s breathing seemed to match it.

Her fingers sought out his hardening erection through the cotton fabric, running over its shape inquisitively. Draco’s eyes had crossed slightly, and his mouth had dropped open. “Don’t stop, please.”

She recognized her own frequent plea and took courage from the fact that he was enjoying her attentions. Hermione pushed his trousers further open so that she could watch what she was doing. Her hand went back to his shaft and wrapped around it experimentally. Eyes darting up to his in shock, she blurted, “It’s enormous!” 

Those two words did more to bolster his mood than anything else she done so far. He looked quite smug, in fact, until Hermione wiped the look off his face quite accidentally by giving his penis a firm squeeze. Noting that he had been reduced to his former unfocused expression, she repeated the action and elicited a strangled curse from her wizard. “Shit. Circe . . .”

“It’s Hermione – get your deities straight,” she murmured. Her courage inflated even more, she worked down his boxers until the giant thing sprang free, and she wrapped as much of her hand around it as possible. “Show me how to touch you, Draco.”

His hand came up around hers. “Like this. Oh, _yes_.” He screwed his eyes shut and seemed to be holding his breath. Hermione continued to move her hand over him as he’d shown her, and now Draco was thrusting into her grip and trembling beneath her. She spent the next few minutes taking mental notes of what caused the deepest groans and biggest thrusts, until he gasped, “I can’t . . . Watch out . . . Hermione!” His shaft pulsed in her hand, and then there was a surge of ejaculate running down her fingers and his shirt. He dropped his head back onto the couch. Hermione practically glowed in triumph at having brought her fiancé such pleasure so quickly. When he was able to focus again, he looked at her with languid eyes. “If I didn’t feel so good right now, I’d be embarrassed at my performance.”

“I thought you did wonderfully.” She bit back the grin that threatened to take over her face. Draco pulled her down for a kiss that made her toes curl. Beneath her wet fingers, his erection began growing again. She pulled away and raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Already?”

Draco treated her to a lazy smile paired with a devastating twinkle. “Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about you doing that to me?” He kissed her softly, sweetly, seductively. “And yes,  _ already _ . Make me come in your hand again, Hermione. Please?”

She lowered her mouth back to his and wrapped her hand around his shaft, preparing to do just that when Luna wandered back into the study. The two froze awkwardly as she beamed their way. “Oh hello, Draco, ‘Mione. Don’t stop on my account. I just came in to say that it’s time to get started on Ginny’s project. It’s going to take some time to get done, and by then Lucius will have figured it out. You’re going to be very busy!”

Hermione dropped her head to Draco’s shoulder, mortified to have been caught in her current position regardless of the fact that it was by Luna. Her wizard, however, straightened his posture, arms wrapping around her protectively as he asked their friend, “Lucius will have figured out what, Luna?”

She just smiled again and shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ruin the surprise. Come on, let’s go get the others.” She began making her way out to the rose garden again.

Hermione, realizing that a crowd of Weasleys and her chaperone were about to walk in on them, all but leapt off Draco’s lap. “Hurry up – she’s gone to wake them all up!”

Draco staggered to his feet, trying to tuck his raging erection back into his trousers. “This is all your fault, little witch.” He was smirking madly and looked immensely pleased, and Hermione was relieved that his mope seemed to be over. He performed a quick Scourgify on himself and his clothes and had just buckled his belt and sank back down onto the couch in a casual pose when the sound of voices carried through the French windows.

Hermione sat down beside him and examined her still-wet fingers.  _ I just made my fiancé come in my hand and beg for more.  _ The thought made her smile again. She whispered his name, “Draco.” 

The others were milling through the French windows now, Ginny heading straight for her with excitement etched on her face. Hermione took one last, longing look at her wizard only to find him staring at her wistfully. On impulse, she raised one wet finger to her mouth, sucking it clean, and watched Draco’s expression morph to one of reverent worship.


	64. Thursday Afternoon and Early Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kind notes and kudos for the last chapter -- I appreciate the encouragement! 
> 
> Must dash,
> 
> -G-

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

__

Alpha Reader/Beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday Afternoon and Evening

  
  


Molly took charge right away. “Bill, Charlie, Percy – enough dawdling for today! We have much to get done before tomorrow. Bill, I want you to check in with each vendor one more time and confirm the delivery times. Nothing after six-thirty in the morning! Alcohol especially! Charlie, you and Percy are on . . .” Her strident tone went on, but Hermione tuned her out when Ginny grabbed hold of her with one hand, Fleur secured tightly with the other.

“Say goodbye to lover-boy for now. We have work to do!” The redhead was practically vibrating with excitement, and completely ignoring the fact that the blonde chaperone was obviously trying to escape her clutch. As Ginny steered the two witches toward the study door, she called over her shoulder, “Bye, Mum! See you tomorrow!”

Molly interrupted her bossy discourse to scold, “Ginevra Molly Weasley, I have hardly seen you at all this week, and I need your help! Luna and Harry have already promised to help with the enchanted pavilions and I hardly think this is the time for irresponsible traipsing about-“

Ginny, who was still dragging the curly-haired witch across the room, interrupted in a saccharine-sweet tone, “Got it, Mum -- irresponsible, traipsing, the whole bit. See you  _ tomorrow _ !” In a much quieter voice, she said, “Mother of Magic,  _ I am eloping _ ,” and when Hermione nudged her, added by way of explanation, “This is going to be the wedding of the century, and Mum’s definitely risen to the challenge. She’s already preparing for her interview as ‘wedding planner for wizarding royalty’ with  _ Which Witch _ .”

They reached the door. Hermione cast one last, longing glance back to Draco, who appeared to be receiving an assignment of his own from the Weasley House Wife. Slightly behind her wizard, Luna beamed and made a shooing motion with her hands. Then his eyes met hers, and he gave her one of his patented almost-smiles. There wasn’t time to consider swooning, unfortunately. She turned back to the current conversation as the three of them swept down the corridor. “Wedding of the . . . wizarding roy- . . . that’s ridiculous. She paused. “She’s only had a week, you know.”

Ginny’s pace was furious, and they passed through the Great Hall as if in flight. “Standard planning time for a Pure-blood wedding. Remember? It’s traditionally kept a secret until the dawn of the event. For goodness sakes, Hermione, pick up your skirt before it trips us all!”

“Well, I  _ would _ if you’d release your death grip on my arm,  _ Ginevra _ .” She tugged her limb free, finally, and gathered the long skirt of the engagement gown. “What’s your idea for my gift?”

“Sssshhhhh!” Ginny looked wildly about and took hold of Hermione’s arm again, walking even faster. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from having Fred and George as brothers, it’s that walls actually  _ can _ have ears!”

This piqued Fleur’s interest. “What do you mean? You know, it would be faster to just-“

“I am  _ not _ going to Side Along with you!” Hermione’s retort didn’t have much bite; she’d secretly had the same thought just seconds before, but there was something infinitely satisfying in calling the shots with the Frenchwoman.

Ginny ignored the suggestion, whipping up a winding staircase. “Let’s just say that when you meet the twins, you’ll never trust an innocent-looking . . .  _ anything _ . . . again. How’s your sense of humor?”

Hermione countered, “They’re wonderful, Fleur – two of the most fun-loving, good-natured wizards you’ll ever meet. A bit immature, perhaps, but that’s part of their charm.”

They reached the gallery along the ballroom in record time and paused to catch their breath at the chaperone’s insistence. Along the ceiling of the room below, just above their eye level, the magnificent chandeliers glistened and cast myriad reflections on every surface. “I don’t like practical jokes, if that’s what you mean,” she answered with an expression of concern.

Ginny waved that off. “Oh, they’re completely harmless. Mostly. And they’re not so difficult to control when you know their secrets. Of course, they do seem to  _ enjoy _ getting into trouble . . . You know what, let’s just leave it at ‘they’re completely harmless’.”

“Mostly,” Hermione added with a smirk.

Obviously intent on steering the talk away from the potentially disastrous subject of Fred and George, Ginny returned to their previous topic. “The female third of the Golden Trio has accepted the war stake of the House of Malfoy, which is the closest thing to royalty that wizarding England gets. There hasn’t been a wedding like this since . . . well, I honestly have no idea. There’s more than one reason Lucius and Draco have kept it under such tight wraps and whisked you away to the Manor as soon as they could.”

“What do you mean?” It didn’t escape Hermione’s attention that Ginny had just made an indirect reference to her weeded brother, but she bit her tongue.  _ I wonder how I can bring that up later. _

“The moment my mum began placing orders in the Malfoy name, rumors started to fly. Then the school shut down prematurely, and every student with any interest in current events went home and told their families about your engagement  _ immediately _ . Everyone knows about the wedding and expects the invitations to go out at any time. It’s already being hinted at in the papers. Of course, no one wants to get on the wrong side of Lucius, so they’re keeping it as discreet as celebrity gossip can be, but you get the idea.”

Hermione could only blink at her friend, mouth opening and shutting soundlessly. Finally she managed, “Exactly how many people will be at the reception tomorrow?” She gathered her skirt once more as they began ascending the final staircase.

Fleur raised her delicate eyebrows in a  _ what-broomcloset-have-you-been-living-in _ sort of expression. Ginny waved a hand dismissively. “Pretty much everyone. That’s why she’s in such a tizzy – she wants it to be perfect.” 

Her brain refused to analyze much of what Ginny had said so far.  _ Maybe it’s a good thing the twins haven’t been helping _ . “Well, she seems to be in her element so I’m glad I handed the whole thing off to her.”  _ And there’s no use worrying about something that’s going to happen anyway. _ She smiled as she remembered Molly’s calming talk earlier that morning, until she remembered the diary she’d requested from Bowly. Grabbing both witches by the arms she cried, “Wait! We need to go back! I forgot all about the-“

Ginny paused at the door to Hermione’s suite, interrupting her in a mock-exasperated tone. “Honestly, ‘Mione. I sometimes find it hard to believe that you kept Harry alive during the war. If you’re talking about,” here Ginny rummaged in the pocket of her dress and produced a very small book, “ _ this _ , you’re not getting it until I’m done with you.” Hermione tried to snatch the little volume from her friend, but wasn’t quick enough. “Oh, no – don’t even think about it.”

Hermione considered hexing the infuriatingly bossy redhead, until she remembered she needed her help. “I also earned eleven O.W.L.S.  _ and _ was dubbed the smartest witch of the age.”

“Yeah,” Ginny sniggered as she opened the door and ushered the other two through, “but only because you hadn’t discovered the opposite sex yet. Come on, we have a  _ lot _ of work to do.” She rounded on the curly-haired witch the moment the door had been shut behind them and a Muffliato had been cast. “Do you know what an odalisque is?”

Hermione bridled at the insulting question. “Of course -- any idiot does!” At Ginny’s challenging look, she expanded, “An odalisque was a slave –the lowest level of the Turkish harem system.” Ginny made the universal gesture for  _ get on with it _ , and she continued, “If she was particularly beautiful, or was talented in some way, she might aspire to become a concubine or even a wife. I don’t see how this . . .” She trailed off questioningly. Now the redhead’s expression morphed to one of pity, and Hermione said slowly, “Of course, there’s also a strong tradition of artistic representation of that subject – a sort of celebration of the female form . . .” Her brain began whirring, and multiple lightning bolts of comprehension struck her mind at once. “Sweet Circe, you want me to pose for nude photographs!”

Fleur gasped and smiled in apparent delight. “What a perfect wedding gift for your husbands! Hermione, they’ll love it!”

Ginny looked like the proverbial cat who caught the canary. “I know. I’m brilliant.”

“Oh, no, no, no. I am  _ not _ going to end up in some magically animated, tawdry pose for the rest of my life. This isn’t a photo shoot for one of Luna’s magazines, Gin!” Even as she argued, her mind was supplying facts in support of the idea. _ They wouldn’t have to be tawdry – there were some rather tasteful odalisques painted in the nineteenth century. Ginny wouldn’t suggest it if she didn’t think it was a great idea. Lucius and Draco would love it. _ “But in the sake of open-mindedness let’s hear your idea.”

Ginny proceeded to cleverly sell her concept of a series of artistic photographs, taken in various rooms of the Manor and perhaps even outside, of Hermione in varying degrees of undress. “It won’t look cheap, I promise – there’s nothing artistic about that. What do you say?”

“Please say ‘yes’,” begged Fleur. “It’s such a romantic idea, Hermione!”

The chaperone’s enthusiastic approval lent the idea an extra ounce of credibility, but there were several rather large hurdles that needed to be overcome. “And how exactly are we going to get these taken and printed out secretly in one afternoon without Lucius and Draco finding out? I don’t have a camera of my own, let alone a fancy self-printing one.”

“I happen to have within my possession – Fleur, get that bag, will you? It’s over by the . . . yes, that’s it – one state of the art vintage wizard camera, loaned to me by Luna Lovegood.” Here she pulled from the bag a monstrosity of a camera. “She handed it to me as we left Grimmauld Place and told me to bring it along. I completely forgot about it until we were in the rose garden. By the way, those golden roses are unbelievable!”

“That thing looks ancient,” Hermione said dubiously. She thought of the sleek camera Lucius had used to take pictures of her handmark, and wondered if she could ask Trinket to get it without him knowing.

Ginny narrowed her eyes in warning. “I did say it was vintage! There’s a tripod in here somewhere . . .” She dug through the large bag at her feet. Eventually, and with some help from Fleur, the redhead got the thing set up. “There we go. It’s what Xenophilius used to use for  _ The Quibbler _ , before he upgraded. Anyway, Luna says it will be perfect.” 

Hermione was torn between arguing that Luna’s interpretation of perfect often differed from her own, and accepting that fact that her dotty friend was well on her way to becoming a confirmed Seer. She settled on the latter. “Okay. But does it-“

“It prints and I have rolls upon rolls of film,” Ginny growled. “Now can we please get started?”

Fleur surprised them both by rattling off a list of suggested settings and poses. When the other two witches regarded her in silent surprise, she said almost defensively, “I find the idea of this gift captivating.” Then her eyes dropped as a blush bloomed across her pale skin.  _ Sweet Merlin, she’s thinking about doing this for Ginny’s brothers! _

The same thought seemed to cross Ginny’s mind at that moment, too, because her face screwed up in a grimace as though she’d eaten something sour. Still, she managed to offer, “If it works half as well as Luna promised, we’ll do the same for you. Let’s, uh, save that thought for later.” She winced and muttered, “ _ Much later _ .”

They set to work, and Hermione quickly added her own set of skills to the project. Within ten minutes, she’d divided all the ideas into easily cross-referenced lists of possible locations, poses, and props. Then Ginny raided the closets, and under her direction Fleur began separating all kinds of things into piles around the dressing room. The redhead looked over what they’d accomplished. “Right, then. I think we’re ready.”

With the knowledge that she was putting complete trust in a tyrant – and that the entire endeavor was based on the vision of a witch from Ravenclaw – Hermione sank onto the chair at her dressing table. “Where do you want to start?”

Ginny frowned, the scope of her idea quickly becoming apparent. “I really want to take some outside, but we need to avoid my mother and the boys.” She cast a sideways glance at Hermione and added, “ _ And your wizards.  _ That excludes pretty much everything outside the Manor. What else is on the list?”

Hermione found herself becoming the teensiest bit excited, despite her trepidations. The result was a flurry of butterflies in her stomach and an accompanying idea. “Errrrr, I know this isn’t on our list, but Draco had this suite designed around the dress I wore to the Yule Ball in fourth year. Maybe something right here? At the very least, it’d be convenient for a practice shot.”

The frown on her friend’s face smoothed into a look of cunning. “I  _ thought _ that bedding reminded me of something. So Draco’s been fantasizing about you in that dress for  _ years _ , has he?” She wandered into the outer room, followed by the other two witches, and stood at the end of the huge canopied bed. “Fleur, open the French windows all the way, will you?” As more sunlight streamed in behind them, the redhead looked at Hermione speculatively. “Right. Gown off and climb under the covers.”

The curly-haired witch paused as she started to comply. “Errrrr, I need a pair of knickers. I’m not going completely starkers.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, her mouth twitching as if she were trying not to smile. “I thought you used a Sticking Charm this morning.” 

Hermione Summoned a pair of knickers from the dressing room closet, making sure they clipped her friend’s head as they whizzed past. Then, drawing them on, she replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She took off the engagement gown and handed it to Fleur.

_ This is for Lucius and Draco. _ _ I will not take offense at Ginny. I love Ginny. I will not hex Ginny. _ The two thoughts quickly became a mantra, which she repeated over and over as her friend proceeded to do what she did best. “Center of the bed. Covers down – not, not like that! It should be carelessly draped . . . Oh, for the love of Merlin I’ll do it myself!” Now Ginny had crawled up on the bed, adding manhandling to her list of offenses. She tugged at Hermione’s arms and legs, rearranged the silken sheets and comforter again and again, and then went so far as to jerk the curly-haired witch’s knickers down off her bum. Gin gave her a swat and scolded, “Stop squirming, Hermione! Honestly, it’s not like I’ve never seen your arse. Now lie still while I look through the lens . . . and look back over your left shoulder at me.”

Hermione maintained her pose as Ginny slid off the bed and went to the camera. She offered, “I don’t know if it’s important, but I did wear my hair up at the Yule Ball.”

This sent her friend into another dictatorial frenzy. “Perfect, although why you couldn’t have told us  _ that _ ten minutes ago is beyond me. Fleur, hairpins! Do you mind . . . Oh, that’s very nice. Wow.” She sounded impressed, but quickly added, “Wipe that smug look off your face and get off the bed -- and don’t move anything!”

Finally Fleur extricated herself from the scene and stood by Hermione’s head, looking in turns incredulous and somewhat outraged. There was something infinitely satisfying in sharing Ginny’s harping with Fleur, and Hermione grinned at her chaperone. “I’d tell you she’s harmless, but that would be a lie.”

Fleur snorted, turning her attention to her charge. “I can’t decide how I feel about that statement.”

Ginny scolded Hermione for moving slightly and she froze back into place, saying loudly, “You should feel honored. She only crushes the spirits of those she loves best.” The curly-haired witch looked over her shoulder with laughter in her eyes, and heard the click of the camera shutter. “May I please breathe now, Gin?”

For a second the only sound was of the ancient camera printing out the picture. Then there was a sharp inhale, and Ginny was suddenly clambering onto the bed next to her. “I’m a genius. Will you just _ look _ at this masterpiece!”

The three witches stared at the print silently. In it, Hermione lay on her stomach amidst a flurry of ruffled periwinkle bed linens, the length of her back bared all the way to the curve of her buttocks. The picture had been taken at the very end of her conversation with Fleur, when her lips had curved up slightly and she’d looked over her shoulder right into the lens of the camera. It was lovely and innocent, and Hermione said as much to her friend. “It’s almost as though I’m wearing that gown,” she added softly, nodding approvingly at the redhead.  _ As if I’m taking it off for Draco. _

“More like you’re almost  _ not _ wearing it. It’s an innocent picture by most standards, but Draco’s imagination is going to run wild.” The two shared an evil grin, and Hermione experienced a little thrill of anticipation.  _ I want to see Draco’s face when he first looks at this. _

Fleur was much more verbose. “Such talent! Ginny, this is  _ incredible _ . You’re truly a genius!”

Hermione shot her chaperone a cautionary look. “Rule number one when dealing with any Weasley, Fleur: never give them more power than is absolutely necessary at  _ any _ time.”

The advice came too late, though, and the damage had been done. Ginny’s lovely brown eyes glowed maniacally as she slid from the bed and raced back toward the dressing room. “Come  _ on _ , you two! We haven’t got all day!”

Fleur rolled her eyes as she held out a dressing gown to Hermione. “How do you put up with her?” Her eyes wandered to where Ginny was now pacing back and forth, lists in hand.

The young witch slipped into the robe, a defensive emotion flaring up within her.  _ No one talks about Ginny like that. Except me.  _ “She’s bossy, impatient, and intolerant, it’s true.” She held up a hand in warning as she continued, “But Ginny is the most generous, the hardest working, and most creative witch you’ll ever meet. She’s loyal, too. If you prove yourself a good friend, she’ll stand by your side through anything.” She finished softly, “She’s the best witch I know.” 

Hermione took a step toward the dressing room but was held back by a hand on her sleeve. “And how exactly do I prove myself to be a good friend to her?” The chaperone asked apprehensively. She wore a nervous expression, and now Hermione’s protective feelings swung in  _ her _ direction.  _ She’s going to be Ginny’s sister in law. _

The curly-haired witch gave a sympathetic smirk. “And there’s the rub – the best way to prove yourself to that heartless tyrant is to do  _ exactly _ what she says. Come on.” As they crossed the outer room, she continued, “On the upside, she really only uses her powers for good. Plus, she’s the one thing in the world that her brothers actually fear.”

Ginny was deep in one of the closets, judging by the noises coming from it and Fleur went straight to the storage space, apparently intent on heeding Hermione’s advice. “What can I do to help you, Ginny?” 

The redhead emerged, only to yank the chaperone inside. Hermione crept warily to the doorway, not sure she was ready to be swept into Ginny’s madness, listening in to the conversation. Her friend replied, “Can you help me find a ball gown that looks like bed sheets, and laces up the back? And ‘Mione – yes, I can see you lurking around the corner – would you look down our list of possible places and try to find a scene where you  _ wouldn’t _ want to be undressed?”

Hermione went to her list on the dressing table and stared down at it.  _ Let’s see, somewhere I wouldn’t want to be undressed.  _ It seemed a fairly straightforward decision – nearly everywhere except her bedroom – until her mind began supplying images of places around the Manor Lucius and Draco had managed to at least partially undress her.  _ Library – done it. Rose garden – done it. Lucius’ study – done it. _ The knowledge that she’d probably add a few more locations to the list before her wedding caused her to smirk.  _ Maybe I should look for a place I HAVEN’T been undressed yet . . . _ Her smirk widened. “How about the ballroom?”

Ginny poked her head out of the closet, a pair of elegant heels dangling from her fingertips. “That might work.” 

“I think this one looks like an entire bed!” Fleur appeared at her side, holding up a cream-colored gown with a strapless, heavily brocaded bodice and incredibly full taffeta skirts.

The redhead scrutinized the gown and then stared off in to space. “Absolutely perfect. Let’s get to work.”

Hermione found herself being manhandled once again as Ginny forced her into a daunting backless bustier and tried rearranging her breasts to her own specifications. “Hands  _ off _ , Ginevra! I can adjust my own boobs, thank you very much!” She smacked her friend’s hands far, far away and proceeded to do so quickly. “All you had to say was that you wanted them pushed up higher.” She stepped into the gown being held out by a smirking Fleur. “Wipe that smile off your face, you traitor. Oof!” Fleur gave a superior quirk with one elegant eyebrow as her sneaky charm laced the back of the gown tightly, but managed to straighten her face. Hermione managed to hiss, “Just you wait until it’s your turn. I’ll be the  _ first _ to volunteer for this job!”

Ginny completely ignored her fit of pique and looked her over with a critical eye. “ _ Much _ better cleavage. More makeup, and see if you can pile her hair up more dramatically.” Fleur made a few passes with her wand, and the redhead seemed pleased. Hermione didn’t even bother to look in the mirror – if Ginny was happy, that was all that mattered.

This scene took slightly longer. After finally agreeing to Side-Along with Fleur, Hermione had arrived at their destination with the expectation that Ginny would be as decisive as she had been before. Instead, her friend walked back and forth at the foot of the dramatic staircase for a good twenty minutes, clearly unsure of what she wanted. Finally the curly-haired witch plopped down near her feet, sprawled back against the ornate railing. She played with the stiff, heavy taffeta skirt. “I feel like a meringue in this thing.”

The remark caught Fleur’s attention, and she sent a glance Hermione’s way. “Oh, Ginny – how about that pose?” the chaperone breathed, an admiring smile on her face.

That’s all it took for Ginny to be caught up in another utterly domineering creative frenzy. “No, that’s not what we want at all. Stand up, ‘Mione. First let’s try having you . . . like that. Turn just so. And Fleur, could you . . .? Perfect. Now take one step up when I say ‘go’, look back at me, and keep your hands exactly where I’ve placed them. And try not to look like you hate me quite so much – it’s not the sort of expression you want to frame. That’s only slightly better. And . . . go!” 

Mere seconds later, there was the unmistakable click of the shutter and the three young women gathered to see the resulting print. As it appeared on the piece of photo paper, Hermione found herself speechless. There before her, a stunning witch – could that actually be her? – stood looking back over her shoulder, her gown unfastened in the back and falling open down to her waist. One of her hands was raised, holding the bodice up to barely cover her breasts, and the other lifted a handful of the gown’s voluminous skirts as she took a step up the staircase. Hermione’s expression was enigmatic; her eyes were glowing under half-closed lids as she looked directly at the camera, and her mouth opened as if she were going to share a secret with the viewer. Now Hermione understood why Ginny had wanted a gown that was reminiscent of bedding, because the picture evoked the idea of a woman rising from her bed, sheets slowly falling from her body. The image was sensual – an inviting picture of unfettered, confident beauty. “It’s  _ amazing _ , Gin.” _ Wow – she really knows how to arrange breasts . . . _

Fleur was once again far more effusive. “It’s magnificent! Such talent, Ginny!”

The redhead grinned wickedly. “We’re just getting started, witches. Come on, back to the room for a change of clothes.” 

Hermione braced herself not only for an afternoon of Side-Alongs with Fleur, but also for the brunt of Ginny’s exhausting genius. She’d never considered herself easily pushed around, but was finding that the combination of Fleur’s no-nonsense older sister mien and Ginny’s formidable youngest-of-seven attitude was truly terrifying.  _ And soon they’ll be related!  _ When they got back to her room, though, Hermione nipped Ginny’s hands-y approach in the bud. In fact, as it was becoming more and more apparent that her friend was doing an excellent job overall, the curly-haired witch traded unilateral decision-making power for the right to dress herself  _ by herself  _ for the rest of the project.

They decided to go to the library next, with Hermione wearing her school uniform. The curly-haired witch led them to the top floor, where the natural light was plentiful. Ginny looked down over the floor upon floors of printed knowledge. “I bet fifty Galleons that Draco and Hermione christen the library first. Merlin’s left nut, but this place is enormous!” She wandered to the nearest reading area, pulling a chair out from the table. “This will do nicely.”

Hermione sighed dreamily, following along automatically. “Draco’s going to sleep here with me. He has an eleventh century translation of Courtenay’s  _ Tretis de Magique _ , and he promised to read it to me by wandlight.”

Her friend gave a happy, girlish laugh. “Oh, ‘Mione – only you would focus on that part of his offer!” She began setting up the scene with Fleur’s competent help.

“Gin, you  _ know _ how I feel about Anglo Norman dissertations!  _ Clearly _ he likes them, too – how else would he even be aware of their existence?” She blushed and grinned as she realized what Ginny really meant. “Oh, yes, well . . .”

“You two were meant for each other, and you’re going to have the most beautiful, swottiest babies this world has even seen.” The redhead’s face warped into a fiendish smirk. “You do realize you won’t be going anywhere near a book any time soon, don’t you?”

Hermione frowned. “What’s that supposed to-“

Her friend interrupted, a knowing look on her face. “You’d better enjoy the next thirty-six hours of fresh air and freedom, because by the way those two were looking at you this morning, you won’t be doing much outside the bedroom for a very long time.”

“I think Lucius all but said that to Slughorn last Saturday at the game,” she replied, remembering how he had declined the professor’s idea of a get-together in the near future.

Ginny looked pleasantly scandalized. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, actually. I was so busy being irritated by that pompous windbag that I didn’t process what Lucius said until just now. Huh.” She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about her fiancé making such an insinuation until Fleur gave a snort of amusement. She quickly found herself giggling as well.  _ Oh, Lucius! _

Ginny was grinning madly. “And he’s not the only Malfoy with Hermione-on-the-brain. Which one do you think will tie you to the headboard first?” For some reason this sent all three girls into paroxysms of laughter, and for a few minutes it was all they could do to remember how to breathe. 

The library picture was just as clever as the first two, but in a different way. Ginny had pushed the envelope even further this time, once again showcasing her Transfigurations skills with clothing. She arranged Hermione at the table wearing only an unbuttoned oversized uniform shirt, with a tie in Slytherin colors loosely knotted around her neck. The resultant print showed her chewing on a quill and looking up at the camera from under her dark lashes just as the shirt slipped off her shoulder.

Ginny was perhaps the most pleased with this picture. “Can you imagine how many times he imagined meeting you in the library for this kind of study date? I’m so incredibly clever it’s scary.”

Hermione had just opened her mouth to tease that her friend was indeed scary, when there was a noise on the ground floor below. She motioned for silence and quickly slipped her clothes back on. Then, on her signal, the three witches crept to the balustrade that ringed the upper floor. Below, Draco strode into the library. He called out urgently, “Lucius, are you still here?”

More sounds came from the back of the ground floor, as if someone was shutting something and then walking in Draco’s direction. It was Lucius, and he was carrying a small, familiar-looking box. “Obviously. I thought you were helping Molly.”

The acoustics in the library were phenomenal, because even though it appeared that both men were speaking rather quietly, their words carried all the way to the top floor. “I was, but I needed to know what you found out.  _ Tell me _ , Lucius.”

Lucius clapped the younger Malfoy on the back and drew him into a one-armed embrace. “Oh, Draco – you worry too much. Come, we can talk on our way across the house. I want to find out where Castor and Pollux have been hiding since yesterday morning, and you need to fulfill your obligations.”

The two men began walking toward the main entrance arm in arm, and it was obvious that Draco was being dragged along by Lucius. “Why can’t we talk in here?”

Lucius cast a curious glance upward, although he didn’t seem to see the witches who had quickly pulled away from the railing. “I’m not sure, but something tells me we shouldn’t.”

Hermione had slid down, her face pressed between the bases of two stone balusters. She saw Draco tug against Lucius’ hold. “You sound like Hermione, when she talks about the covenant. She seems to have a strong bond with it. Gods, she’s amazing in every way.” 

Lucius seemed to tighten his grip, trying to urge Draco forward again. His tone was urgent. “I agree wholeheartedly, but such things should remain unspoken while there are so many other people at the Manor. It isn’t wise to speak of her so freely.”

Draco looked as if he was shaking his head, but it was really too great a distance to know for sure. The bear hug he gave the elder Malfoy, though, was obvious. “He’s gone, Lucius. He can’t take her away from us. No one can. She wants to be ours.” Lucius had dropped his head onto his brother’s shoulder, and Draco repeated, “She wants  _ us _ .”

Lucius appeared to take control of whatever emotion had overwhelmed him, because he stood tall once again and began dragging Draco towards the door. “Why is it that you are always trying to comfort me? Hmm? It’s a good thing you’re so handsome, Draco, or people might mistake you for a witch, with all that sensitivity you have.”

They were just passing her line of sight, but Hermione distinctly saw Draco punch Lucius in the side hard enough to make the older wizard double over. “I’ll give  _ you _ sensitivity, old man. And stop torturing yourself -- what you need to do is have Hermione get you off. Now tell me what you’ve learned, and then I’ll tell you how talented our witch is with her . . .”

Their voices faded, and then the heavy door slammed shut. Hermione’s head and heart worked in tandem to process every word she’d overheard, and a sense of ferocious protectiveness for her wizards overwhelmed her. She turned to her companions almost fiercely. “What did you hear?”

They both shrugged, and Fleur offered, “Nothing that made sense. It sounded like a private conversation.” Ginny nodded in agreement.

Hermione took a deep breath. Every muscle in her body strained to chase down Lucius and wrap her arms around him comfortingly.  _ And help him to get off. _ She sighed.  _ I cannot do everything at once. This project needs to be finished first. _ Her brain whirred to life, cranking out possibilities. She turned to her redheaded friend. “We need to work as quickly as possible, and I have some new, non-negotiable ideas.”

Ginny was regarding her with understanding eyes. “I have no idea what all that meant, but you’re a lucky witch, Hermione Granger,” she said softly.

“I know that!” Her friend’s gentle tone had her backtracking almost immediately. “Ummmm, why do  _ you _ think so?”

“Because the way they were both speaking about you – that’s the way Harry speaks about us. That’s not just desire – it’s love.” It was Fleur’s turn to nod in agreement.

“You’re right, Gin. I don’t know how it’s possible, but in a little more than two weeks, I’ve come to love them both. Which is why,” she continued in an entirely different tone of voice, “We need to pick up the pace.”

That meant less conversation and far more bossing from Ginny, but Hermione’s mind was far away and focused on her elder wizard. When Gin understood what it was Hermione wanted, she set to work at once. Within an hour and a half, four more gorgeous prints had been added to the pile, each one showing just a bit more skin than the last. There was one of Hermione in Draco’s Quidditch jersey, straddling his Firebolt (acquired stealthily by Trinket); there was one of her in a tub of bubbles, water streaming over the glistening tops of her breasts; there was one of her bent over the arm of Lucius’ armchair, wearing only ruffled white knickers and a naughty smile; and the last was of Hermione reclining amongst the rosa praestruxit, bare except for the flowers, which had twined themselves around her body.

Trinket had been thrilled to help, and was so disappointed when she realized the fun was over that she insisted she be allowed to clean up the dressing room. The three witches watched her work happily away as they lounged on the couch in a heap of limbs. Hermione was rubbing Ginny’s feet, which happened to be resting on her lap. “You’re the best friend ever, Ginny. Thank you for this.” She turned to Fleur. “And thank you, Fleur, for putting up with us. I’m glad we’ve become friends.”

“This was the most fun I’ve ever had.” Fleur smiled happily. She was sitting in the middle of the couch, her hands resting on Ginny’s knees. “I only wish Gabi could have been here – I know you’d like her.”

Hermione nodded. “If she’s anything like you, Fleur, I’m sure you’re right. And we’ll get to meet her tomorrow, right?”

“I hope so.” The chaperone’s expression turned hopeful. “Perhaps my father plans to bring the stake along with him then!”

Ginny pulled Fleur into a one-armed hug. “I’ll hunt him down myself if needed. You’re going to be a Weasley, and that’s that.”

The room had been set back to rights by now, and Trinket caught Hermione’s attention. “Trinket was wondering if . . . Trinket has been thinking . . .” she was wringing her hands and looking up at the curly-haired witch nervously. 

“Go ahead, tell me,” encouraged Hermione. She released her hold on Ginny’s feet, and the redhead sat up on her end of the couch.

“There is one picture the Masters would love more than anything, if you are interested, Lady.” The housekeeper spoke in a whisper, and her ears were quivering. It hadn’t escaped Hermione’s notice that the housekeeper had taken great interest in the photographs, pointing out the appropriateness of each one for the Malfoys.

  
  


“I’d love to hear your idea, Trinket. What is it?” It was becoming clear that Trinket wasn’t nearly as confident when she acted outside her role as housekeeper.

“The House bed, Lady.” The house elf was looking at her in a meaningful way, nodding her head as if her suggestion needed no explanation.

Fleur was up off the couch like a shot, startling everyone –Trinket especially. “Yes, we must take this picture!” The chaperone turned to Hermione. “I have seen the Delacour House bed only once, when I was a small child, and I have never forgotten the magic of that place. It will hold special meaning to your wizards – this I know.” She asked the housekeeper excitedly. “Can you take us all there, if Hermione gives you permission?” 

The small creature regarded her future Mistress thoughtfully. “It is a secret place accessible only to the House of Malfoy, but if Lady gives her permission, this can be done.”

_ Astoria said she thought some Houses still had them, and now it seems that this one does. _ Hermione’s brain kicked in to high gear, and her mind’s eye was suddenly inundated with images from her recent dreams and erotic fantasies involving both of her wizards _. _ If the idea of their reaction to each of the previously taken pictures was arousing, the thought of this new one was ten times more so.  _ An image meant for all three of us at the same time. _ She glanced at her friends, who both looked intrigued, and said to Trinket, “You have my permission. Please take us there.”

Ginny barely had time to scoop up the camera bag before the housekeeper Apparated the entire group with a loud crack. When time and space settled, and Hermione got her bearings, she found herself in a large, dark room. Moments later, it was filled with intimate light as thousands of candles flamed to life. It was a large space, lit now by wall sconces, multiple candelabras, and a chandelier, and dominated by an enormous bed against the far wall. Strong, heavy magic pervaded it, along with the faintest scent of her Amortentia. She smiled, seeking out the covenant’s presence within her.  _ Is this where you hide outside of the blood of the Malfoys? _ She thought that in a teasing way, and the covenant gave a roll of amusement.  _ I’m going to ask you more about that sometime.  _ The young witch interpreted its reaction to mean that their presence in this place was acceptable. 

Hermione took a step toward the huge bed, her imagination running wild. The magic in the air was so thick she felt it licking along her skin like a lover’s tongue. Both the sensation and simile her brain had provided for it were incredibly arousing.  _ This place is designed for all three of us to . . . be together. _ As if on autopilot, she walked the rest of the way, kicked off her sandals, and then climbed up onto the silky bedding.  _ Lucius and Draco will bring me here, and we’ll share our love without any chance of interruption.  _ Giving herself a shake in an attempt to clear her fogging mind, she looked over her shoulder at her friends. “Are you ready?”

For once Ginny was quiet, her eyes darting around the room. “Can you feel that? I don’t think we’re meant to be here.”

“What are you talking about?” The curly-haired witch leaned down to rub her cheek against the silken coverlet, letting the sensory input stoke the pleasant hum of desire within her. “It’s incredible.”

Fleur had followed to the side of the bed, and she spoke in a low, reverent tone. “This magic we feel is the Malfoy covenant, Ginny. I think it allows us here because it senses we mean no harm. Still, I agree that we aren’t exactly welcome. This place is meant only for the Malfoy wizards and their House Wife.”

Hermione was reminded of the way the covenant had flowed over and under her skin when she’d accepted the Malfoy stake.  _ You’ve been influencing my state of mind and decisions since we first met so that your plan for this House could continue.  _ She could feel it influencing her now, and instead of panicking at the slight loss of control, she bent to its will as she’d done unconsciously at the very beginning.  _ Show me _ . Her mind was suffused with images of things she had only imagined to this point – her body writhing in pleasure, limbs tangled with those of her husbands-to-be. It made her gut tighten and her clitoris throb.  _ Draco spoke of worship, and that’s what this place is – a place where the three of us will worship each other.  _ She crawled up to the massive headboard, crouching near the double row of thick pillows to run her fingers along the luxurious fabrics, and suddenly she  _ knew _ . Hermione looked over her shoulder at her silent friends. “This will be a true odalisque. Get the camera ready.”

Fleur held out her hands, ready to take the engagement gown out of which Hermione was struggling. She finally slipped it over her head and gave it to her friend, then wriggled out of her knickers. Closing her eyes and conjuring up the image of a Courtat odalisque she’d once seen at the Louvre, she thought of the beautiful siren in the painting. She let the magic flow over and through her, the enthralling mental images to keep running in a loop, and her body to respond in desire. Her nipples tightened and the fluid of her arousal pooled at the apex of her legs. Hermione reclined against the rows of pillows, allowing her curls to fall thickly around her. She leaned slightly to one side, arms draped softly and one knee bent gently, and looked at the camera with all the want and need her wizards had awakened in her. The covenant purred at the edge of her awareness, and the young witch lost track of everything but the heavy magic in the room and the arousing images still flooding her mind.

So focused was she that it took Fleur throwing her clothes on top of her to wake her out of her trance. Ginny was heading toward the bed with the print, a strange look on her face as she held it out to Hermione. “What do you think?”

Hermione sat up and clutched at the gown, uncomfortable with the knowledge she was still so aroused in the presence of her friends. “Just a minute, Gin.” She worked the material through her hands until she could pull it over her head, and then navigated the delicate straps carefully. “Thank you.” Taking the image from the redhead and dropping her eyes to it, she gasped. “Oh.”

Fleur was peeking over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of what had tongue-tied the other two. Her eyebrows rose delicately. “Sweet Circe.”

The print was by far the most erotic of all the pictures they’d taken. In it, she was bared completely to the viewer, laid out and clearly begging for sex. The witch in the photograph leaned back against dark green pillows, her pale, smooth skin set off against a coverlet of the same deep hue. Her expression was sensual – her eyes heavy-lidded, her glistening lips parted in a seductive half-smile. Hermione looked at her nude body, evaluating what she saw, and in her head she heard Lucius’ voice as he had described her body to her.  _ Lovely legs, delectable backside, beautiful breasts . . .  _ In that moment she saw herself through his eyes, and she was both pleased and even more aroused.  _ I want my wizards. Right now. _ “It’s perfect.”

Trinket made her presence known at that point, whispering in an anxious way, “Lady, we should leave.”

“Of course.” Hermione shook away her lustful thoughts and slid from the huge bed. She stepped into her knickers and then stood still as Fleur fastened the back of the engagement gown. “Is there a certain reason why that is?”

The housekeeper was motioning for them to join her at the far side of the room, and she was once again wringing her hands. “Yes, Lady. The Master comes here often, and Trinket does not think he would want us to find him here.” As soon as the witches were within her reach, she grabbed onto their hands and Disapparated from the secret room.

As soon as the dizziness of Apparition had worn off, Hermione excused herself from her friends and all but physically dragged the house elf onto the balcony. “What did you mean by that, Trinket?” The housekeeper had a profoundly guilty look on her face, and she turned her gaze down to her feet. The young witch pressed, “Please tell me, if you can.” A stray thought hit her. “Oh, Merlin – does he . . . does he go there to think about Narcissa?” Jealousy swept through Hermione. Her logical brain identified it as irrational, reminding her of Lucius’ obvious disdain for his dead Wife, but the emotion would not be stifled.

Righteous anger flared in the normally happy creature’s eyes. “ _ No one here speaks that name! _ ” In a much different, hushed tone of voice, she added, “Since the Master has not forbidden me to speak of it . . . he goes there to hide his troubles, so that the young Master will not worry.”

Hermione dropped to her knees before the housekeeper, taking one of her odd little hands between her own. “His sorrow?”

Trinket nodded, smiling sadly, and she patted Hermione’s much larger hand. “The last Mistress of our House was dark, much like Master Abraxas. Those two invited evil into this House, and such darkness broke my Master’s good heart. He has cared for the young Master and waited for you, Lady, and he has not taken care of himself. Oh, but Trinket watches over him, though!” There were tears in the large, round eyes of the little elf.

“He goes there when he needs to be alone – when his heart is aching,” repeated Hermione quietly, wanting to be sure she’d understood.  _ He probably doesn’t even realize it‘s because the family magic is there to comfort him – he doesn’t have the same relationship with the covenant that I do.  _ Her own heart clenched painfully at the thought of her love hiding his wounds under that mask of arrogant confidence. “Oh, Lucius, my love.” Tears threatened to spill from her own eyes.

Trinket squeezed the young witch’s hand, looking up at her earnestly. “There has been such change in Master since he first found you, good, sweet Lady! And now that you have accepted the Malfoy stake, his heart can mend.” She gave a happy smile. “Never has there been such a perfect one – and Trinket has served ten generations of our House!”

Hermione stood, releasing her hold on the housekeeper, and vowed solemnly, “I will watch over our Masters with you, Trinket, and darkness will  _ never _ find its way into our House again.” She sighed.  _ There is so much to get done, and so little time. _ “I need to get this present finished so that it can be ready for tomorrow. And then I need to find that silly snake of a wizard and cheer the both of us up.”

The words acted as a leavening agent, and the heavy mood lifted. Trinket gave a smile that was much closer to her usual manic beam and curtsied. “Lady is most welcome! If there is nothing else?” At Hermione’s headshake, the house elf disappeared with a happy  _ crack _ .

The young witch stayed on the balcony a few more minutes, taking the time by herself to channel her elder wizard. She girded her still-tender heart and switched gears in her whirring brain, working to defeat the tears that still swam in her eyes.  _ There’s no reason to grieve for him right now – his pain is in the past, and I’m his future.  _ Hermione looked down into the formal garden and caught sight of Draco’s platinum hair shining up at her like a star. She watched him as he walked the perimeter of the entire garden, obviously performing a charm. As if he felt her eyes on him, he glanced up and waved.  _ Now there’s a sight for sore eyes _ . Even from this great distance, she knew he was smiling, and she returned his gesture with a smile of her own. Then, feeling much better, she took a deep breath and turned to the bedroom.

Ginny and Fleur were at the large desk in the corner, the pictures spread out before them. The redhead looked up as she approached. “I’m sure you’re dying to see Lucius and Draco, and that they’d have a fit if you even suggested leaving the estate, but this project requires some shopping. We need to frame them, or put them in an album. If you want, I could do it right away this afternoon – I promised Draco I’d run an errand for him anyway.” At Hermione’s questioning glance, she leaned forward with a sly smirk and whispered, “You’re not to know.”

Hermione grinned gratefully. For all her irritating qualities, Ginny was a truly good friend. “That would be fantastic. Frames, I think – that way they don’t fight over one album. Hang on.” She went to the side table where her beaded bag lay and withdrew the heavy purse of Galleons she’d won at Saturday’s Quidditch match. “Here – take whatever you think you’ll need.”

Ginny looked at the purse appreciatively and took a small handful of the gold coins. “Right, then! I’ll just go let Harry know that I’m off.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “You should go find one of your fiancés – or both. You look a bit . . . flushed.” With a quick, tentative hug for Fleur, she walked toward the door. 

“Wait,” called out Hermione, pausing to scoop up the small stack of pictures, “Won’t you need to take these?”

Ginny paused, an incredulous expression on her face. “You’re kidding, right?” She shook her head sternly. “ _ Those _ pictures shouldn’t leave the Manor.  _ Ever _ . Don’t worry,” she added as she began the turn required to Disapparate, “I know just what to get.” She was gone with a sharp crack.

Hermione turned to Fleur, who was still looking over the photographs. “Fleur, let’s go find our wizards.” 

“Hmmmmm.” The Frenchwoman was staring off in to space, a dreamy expression on her face.

“ _ Fleur _ .” She tapped her chaperone on the shoulder to get her attention. “ _ Redheaded wizards _ .” The blonde witch whipped her head around, and Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. She repeated her initial suggestion.

“Yes! What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” cried Fleur, taking charge of the situation as usual. “Come on, Hermione!” She grabbed hold of the curly-haired witch, and with the most abrupt of warnings, Apparated them both to the Great Hall.

In retaliation for the unsettling mode of travel, Hermione physically dragged her chaperone to Lucius’ study. He sat at his desk, looking over some parchment, but at their entrance he stood with an outstretched arm. “Good afternoon, pet. Mademoiselle Delacour.”

She went to him at once, insinuating herself into his arms and pressing a kiss to his lowered jaw. “Lucius.” Her arms held him tightly, as if she could convey the depth of her feelings by squeezing him to death.

He chuckled and tugged her head back by a handful of curls. “Such a warm greeting. What have you and your friends been up to this afternoon, hmmm?” Rather than attempting a falsehood, she pulled him down for a kiss that quickly turned heated. Fleur made a half-hearted attempt to clear her throat, but Hermione waved a hand in warning, effectively silencing her. Eventually Lucius pulled his lips from hers. He rubbed a thumb along her lower lip, eyes riveted to the action. “We have much to talk about, my prize. Will you walk with me to find Draco?” His eyes flickered to their chaperone, and he added in a silky tone, “He’s in the formal garden with Molly’s boys, I believe.”

Fleur was off like a shot, and Lucius took full advantage of their relative privacy during the short walk to the back of the house. His hands traveled over her torso freely, and he murmured filthy things in cultured tones. By the time they exited the Manor and found Draco standing near the central fountain, Hermione was a trembling mess. She all but tumbled into his arms. The younger Malfoy took stock of her current state, his eyes darting from her, to Lucius, to Fleur, who had paused nearby. Finally he asked their chaperone, “Fleur, you don’t mind if we walk in the garden, do you?”

Molly had just caught sight of the newcomers, and she was calling out to Fleur across the distance. The blonde witch nodded vaguely. “I’ll just be over there . . .” She wandered away to where the Weasley House Wife was scolding one of her grown sons.

Draco didn’t waste a moment; he quickly led Hermione to a small seating area at the furthest point of the garden and sat down beside her. Lucius, who had followed, did the same. She looked between their handsome faces. “What’s going on? Lucius, did you find something about the rune?” When he didn’t answer, she turned to the younger Malfoy. “Draco?”

Draco looked down at her with darkening eyes. “Lucius spoke with Louis. The matriarch’s rune, it would seem, has a mate.” She had no time to process the information, because he was leaning down to kiss her, pressing her back into Lucius’ chest in the process. His mouth was hungry, and he delved into her mouth the moment she responded to him. Push, pull, push. His rough, wet tongue moved against hers as it thrust again and again between her lips. When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing roughly. She was aware of two sets of hands supporting her, and then Draco was saying seductively against the corner of her mouth, “You’re going to take another rune, sweetheart.”

Hermione sat up slowly. “I’ll have  _ two _ runes?” 

Lucius’ hands were cupping her breasts from behind, and Draco pushed his lips to hers again. This kiss was even hungrier, and she moaned into his mouth. The sound morphed into a strangled cry as Lucius gently bit the nape of her neck and began plucking at her nipples with his fingers, and Draco pulled away to murmur, “I’m going to mark you tonight, and then Lucius and I are going to make you scream with pleasure.”


	65. Thursday -- Late Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I like to call the 'Pride and Prejudice' chapter. So cue the soundtrack and crank it up !
> 
> -G-

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha reader/Final beta: CoquetteKitten

Thursday - Late Afternoon

Draco finally let Hermione up for air, and the young witch lay in the support of Lucius’ arms with chest heaving. Her younger wizard looked down at her with a smug expression, and she couldn’t help herself from asking with a fairly straight face, “What if I don’t want another rune?”

That wiped the look right off his face. Shocked, he managed to stammer, “I- I beg your pardon?”

Lucius was chuckling quietly against the back of her neck, and he murmured so that only she could hear, “Play nicely, pet.”

Hermione gave her elder wizard a gentle, warning elbow to the chest. She continued to gaze at Draco with innocent eyes. “What if I only want one? I mean, isn’t that traditional?” 

“I would never presume to force such a thing on you, Hermione,” Draco said solemnly, obviously schooling his features to hide his disappointment. “The traditions of House runes are varied, but ultimately the decision rests with you.” He looked away for a moment, flexing his jaw, and then back at her with an almost-smile. 

_ He’s crushed. _ The realization that Draco didn’t yet possess the staggering assurance of his brother – the very thing that made it such fun to tease Lucius – pierced her heart, and she knew she had gone far, far over the line.  _ They’re so alike, but so different – and some of that just has to do with their age difference. _ She reached a hand up and brushed back the platinum hair that fell over his forehead. “Oh, Draco! Of course I want a second rune – I was only playing.”

His handsome face relaxed into a genuine expression of relieved happiness. “You’re quite sure?”

Hermione blushed, thinking how she’d filed away the arousing mental image of Astoria’s set of runes and thought about it more frequently than she would ever admit. “Very sure.” She sat up and hugged him close, burying her nose in the crisp linen of his button-down, then looked up at him again. “And  _ you’ll _ do it this time?”

Draco’s eyes were darkening again. He dropped his mouth down to brush against hers as he answered. “Oh, yes.” 

The air surrounding them began to crackle with anticipation and building desire, and Hermione pulled away reluctantly, moving to an even distance between her two wizards. She turned to Lucius, who was regarding her in that confident, slightly amused way of his. The look affected her as it always did. “What did you find out?”

He shrugged gracefully. “Grand-père Louis assumed we knew of the paired runes because Draco had both of them recast, hence he said nothing before.”

“Well, surely he had some information about it,” she pushed. Draco was trying to pull her closer, and she evaded his embrace with a happy sound. “Oh, no – I’m staying away from you so that my brain functions optimally. Lucius, what did your ancestor say?”

His well-shaped lips stretched to a slightly wider smirk, and one dark eyebrow rose eloquently. It was a supremely predatory look, and Hermione felt the tiniest bit of apprehension at what he was about to say. “He did make a few observations about our Bespoken one-“

“Lucius, stop.” Draco’s tone was one of warning, his fingers tightening reflexively at her waist, and Hermione’s curiosity flared. As if sensing this, her younger wizard leaned down and murmured, “I know how stubborn you are. If you insist on hearing this, I’d really rather not be present. I’ll just go and help Molly for a bit. Would you please excuse me, sweetheart?” 

He stood from their seat, kissing the back of her hand, and walked away. She couldn’t help but notice that his face and neck were suffused with a deep flush, and turned with trepidation to Lucius. She felt a blush of her own rise up from her chest and sweep over her face in anticipation of something potentially embarrassing. “What is it?”

“Such a brave kitten you are, my prize, always meeting a challenge with that firm little chin held high,” he purred appreciatively. “Since you insist, our progenitor moved between several picture frames in the study area you and Draco used yesterday afternoon. It seems he quite enjoyed what he saw of the next Malfoy House Wife.”

Hermione strained her brain to think what had happened in the library during the time she’d been there with her younger wizard.  _ We asked Bowly for the books, studied law and custom for far too brief a time, and then . . .  _ The color drained from her face instantly, and Lucius’ smirk widened even further until it was a wolfish smile. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes fell shut. “Oh, dear Merlin . . .”

Her fiancé was still talking in that silky, sex-infused voice of his. “He told me he approved of your willingness to both learn and please – a woman who was both educated and knew the beauty of her own body was as much a prize in his time as it is now.” His mouth was at her temple now, and his hands drew her against him in a hold that was meant to be both comforting and desirous. In the moment it felt like neither to her. “Louis took great pleasure in telling me how you bared your pretty breasts to Draco and touched them until the young Master fell under the spell of your persuasiveness.” Hermione groaned in mortification. This was the Gryffindor Fat Lady and her unwanted commentary all over again, only far, far worse! Lucius went on, though. “He was quite taken with the sight of his descendant on his knees, the future Mistress of the Manor astride his lap. And do you know what he asked me, pet? Do you know what the keeper of the Malfoy runes was dying to know?”

She had been hiding in the fabric of his robes for most of this, and shook her head miserably. She whispered, “No, Lucius. I can only imagine it was-“

He shushed her with a chuckle and tipped her head up to press a kiss to her lips. When she finally opened her eyes, he caught her gaze and crooned, “He wanted to know if your cunt was as pretty as your mouth.” Then he was kissing her again, adding to her feelings of humiliation a physical craving for more. It jarred with her emotions.

Finally, as Draco had before, he broke the kiss so they could breathe. Hermione took advantage of the fact to pull away from him, pushing a hand firmly against his chest. “I cannot believe . . .” she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I can never show my face outside my current suite again.”

He hummed. “So you noticed there are no paintings hung in your rooms?”

Hermione made a choked noise. “I thought it was odd, but now I see the advantage.  _ Lucius! _ ” She was blinking back tears of shame. “I am not some . . .  _ something _ for you and your relatives to discuss as you would livestock. I’m every bit as deserving of dignity and respect as anyone else.” 

The last bit was whispered in a quiet tone as she pushed away farther and stood, walking to the small fountain nearby. Her mind whirred, and a million different thoughts sped through. She turned, barely able to meet his eyes. “I need to be alone.”

Hermione walked blindly through the formal garden, vaguely aware that Lucius followed at a distance. Her thoughts insisted on returning to the fact that she had been so . . . so  _ wanton _ in such a public place. Her brain argued that she’d done many such things in the past few days, never paying heed to who might be watching from a nearby portrait frame.  _ Oh, Circe – were there any frames in the House Bedroom? And what about Lucius’ study?! _ Not that it mattered – the initial damage had already been done, and no doubt Louis had spread what he’d seen around the Manor.

She passed by Draco, who was being given instructions by Molly, but she ducked her eyes to avoid his gaze and turned down the steps that led from the center edge of the gardens down to the fields and river below. “Hermione, are you alright?” he called, but she only motioned with her nearest hand for him to stay away. “Hermione? Lucius-“ She was moving much faster now, her feet flying over the stone steps, and Draco’s soft, husky voice faded as she went.

_ This isn’t me – none of this is me!  _ The covenant seemed to take offense at this thought.  _ What – you’re telling me that Hermione Granger is the kind of girl to forget herself just because some man does or doesn’t pay attention to her? That’s preposterous.  _ The images in her head moved quickly, but she gasped in hurt at what she saw – memories of different points of her Hogwarts years. The feeling of quiet fury when Ron had first discovered girls and was tickling tonsils with Lavender Brown; the wild jubilation when Viktor Krum had aimed his sights on her during the Triwizard Tournament, and ensuing foray into beauty charms in order to feel more worthy of his attention; the despair she’d tried to keep at bay as Ron became more and more of a flagrant skirt-chaser.  _ That’s different – I wasn’t tearing off my clothes without thought of an audience! Those were simply emotions and reactions to them. My feelings are valid! _

She was at the bottom of the staircase now and set off across the grassy field, mindless of the fact that her delicate shoes were being destroyed.  _ How dare that vile painting share what he saw with . . . anyone! How dare he watch! _ Her hands, which had been holding up her long skirts since she’d left Lucius’ side, tightened to white-knuckled fists at this idea! From not far behind her, a familiar voice was calling her name, and she hurried her pace.

The river was coming into view. Hermione wrestled her way through a swath of high grasses that ran along the edge of the field, breaking through to find a small, paved path that had been hidden until now. She stepped onto it, dropping her gathered skirts and pausing before heading left. Lucius was calling her name again from a short distance, and she picked up her pace. “I don’t want to talk to you, Lucius!”

The river ran downstream along her right, and she followed the path as it wound between the rushing water and the high grasses. The sound was soothing, slowly working its way between her brain and its current thoughts, but did nothing for the anger and mortification inside her.  _ And it’s not just the painting’s fault – knowing Lucius, he enjoyed the conversation!  _ Her shoes were quite literally falling apart. Hermione stooped to unfasten the tiny buckles at her ankles, stepping out of them and continuing on barefoot. She walked on, a shoe gripped tightly in each fist. 

The young witch could hear Lucius’ boots on the path directly behind her now, but she ignored him.  _ He’s impossible! He’s filthy-mouthed, and arrogant, and he doesn’t give one whit about what I think about anything! _ The last thought was so hurtful that she couldn’t stop the angry sob that welled up from deep in her chest, and she hurled one shoe into the river with all of her might.

The slight disturbance startled a nearby family of mute swans, who turned their heads reproachfully in her direction. “Hermione.” He was very close to her back.

She whirled, giving her full attention to his broad chest. “I  _ said _ I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then I will talk for the both of us. Do you wish to continue attempting to out-walk me?”

Hermione huffed and turned on her heel.  _ Even when he knows I’m furious with him, he sounds as if the fact amuses him! _ She began walking again.  _ Arrogant, misogynistic, domineering, superior ass! _

As if he could hear her thoughts, he said in a firm tone, “I do not think myself superior to you.” Her head whipped up, her eyes betraying her by finding his gaze before she could tear them away. Lucius continued, “There is no need for Legilimens, as your face is particularly expressive.” __

_ But I’ll bet you’d use it in a heartbeat if you thought it would serve to your advantage _ . She continued in silence. Again, he seemed to know what she was thinking, because he added, “And I would never use force with you of any kind.”

_ Oh, you wouldn’t, would you? I’ll just bet, given the right set of circumstances, you’d find a way to justify doing just that! _ There was a heron standing up ahead in the reeds along the river’s edge, and she gave it her full attention.

“I’m overbearing, and my confidence is nearly absolute.” His voice was low, and there was a note of consideration in it. “I find humor everywhere, regardless of others’ feelings. I have mastered my temper, but barely. I take great pleasure in pushing the limits of those around me, often in a crass manner.” 

Hermione snorted loudly.  _ That’s not the half of it! _ Looking closer at the beautiful scene around her, she realized the area was teeming with birds. Kingfishers perched on the reeds, moorhens and a lone cormorant bobbed in the water’s current, and the song of reed warblers filled the silent parts of this one-sided conversation.

He was still talking as they walked side by side along the path. “As a boy, I was taught that one day Abraxas would find a witch who was perfect for us. He described her in terms of what was most important to him – namely beauty – but from a young age I was certain she would also have qualities for which I didn’t even have names. There was an ache in my heart, though, and somehow I knew that only she would soothe it. Later, as a fourth year at Hogwarts who was already sick with the knowledge that the Bespoken one chosen by his father was a loathsome creature, I made a list.”

The seeming non sequitur caught her off guard, causing her glance up at him again and blurt, “What?” Cursing her curiosity and impulsiveness, she turned her eyes back to the river and walked on.

Lucius continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “I sat in my bed one night, curtains drawn, and wrote out a list of the qualities I was certain a Bespoken one should have. Over the years I refined it, but the traits themselves never changed.” His hands came up before him, and he began ticking off on his fingers. “She would have a sweetness about her that drove the breath from my lungs. Her kindness would be evident in the way she regarded others at all times. She would be generous and true of heart, brave and loyal as a warrior, and virginal in mind and body.” He had slowly stopped walking, and she found it impossible to continue on without him. She stayed at his side. “Her beauty would be in keeping with her nature, sweet and shining. Of course, knowing myself as I did even then, I knew the perfect witch must be able to stand up to me. She would be adorably stubborn and have a delicious temper.”

“She was a rather idealized witch, don’t you think?”  _ That’s the sort of woman my parents always said was the best kind.  _ Hermione was struck by that thought. The romantic language of Lucius’ list didn’t hurt, either, but she was still upset.  _ I’ll never be able to go back into that house _ . 

He wasn’t done. “I kept my list, locking it away in my desk on the night of my wedding. I married that vile witch at my father’s demand, and took what pleasure I could from her, all the time knowing she possessed none of the qualities I wanted in a woman. When she was dead, I took my infant brother in my arms and went to my study.”

She looked up at him to find him watching her closely. “For your list?”

Lucius nodded solemnly, never breaking their gaze. “Only, I found that I had memorized it and had no need to carry it in my pocket any more. I taught it to Draco, making sure to weave this perfect witch’s traits into every bedtime story I told him, so that from an early age he would know these were characteristics to be admired. On the day I first recognized you in Diagon Alley, he and I had just sworn an unbreakable vow to each other that we would search for a Bespoken one unceasingly, and consider her character above all else before we cast our stake. Then you brushed my sleeve,” His hand reached out and ran over the fabric covering her shoulder, “and I began carrying my list in my pocket again.”

“Why?” It occurred to her he hadn’t once used a pet-name for her yet, and somehow it bothered her.

He gave a small smile. “Severus gave Draco unlimited use of his own Floo so that the two of us could talk, and each night my brother would tell me about you. The first three years were the most credible in terms of character reference, because he hadn’t yet figured out that you were a woman. I looked at my list often, comparing his words of you to my ideal witch.” He breathed a short laugh. “After that, his hormones took over completely for a while. Then, I began hearing your name while in the Dark Lord’s camp, and . . . well, the most honest observations of strengths and weaknesses often come from our enemies. The Death Eaters spent much time dissecting your personality.” 

Hermione had always known that Voldemort’s cronies had been fascinated with Harry, but the idea that they’d openly talked about her was new. “ _ Me _ ?”

He nodded. “Yes,  _ you _ . You were Harry Potter’s most valuable ally besides Albus – you were incredibly intelligent, your magical abilities highly advanced, and your resourcefulness boundless. This is what they said of Hermione Granger, and it remains true. Do you know what else can be said of you?”

“No?” It came out as a question, and she nervously awaited his answer.

He was looking at her in that reverent way that his brother often did, his hand still barely touching her shoulder, and Hermione found there was very little ire left in her. “You are so  _ sweet _ that you drive the air from my lungs. Your kindness exceeds all expectation. You are generous and true of heart, brave and loyal as a warrior, and pure in mind and body. Your beauty is incomparable, your fiery temper is arousing, and you challenge me.”

Halfway through his declaration, Hermione had given up trying to remain angry. Her heart beat erratically, and she felt almost dizzy. Now he was kneeling down before her, so that to meet her eye he had to look up slightly. “One part of that unbreakable vow eight years ago was that I would read my list to our Bespoken one in our wedding bed, so that she would know her worthiness from the start, and I will read it again tomorrow night so that my vow may be fulfilled. I think, though, that it was meant for this moment as well.” 

Were there tears in her eyes? Lucius was swimming in her vision. His voice was rough and quavered slightly, though, so perhaps it was he who was crying. Could one see through another’s eyes? “Hermione, I have dreamed of you my entire life, and now that I have won you as the greatest of all prizes, I offer myself to you – every arrogant, prideful, controlling part of me. Do with me as you will, so long as I may be near you.” Then, lowering his head he murmured, “I am sorry, my love.”

Hermione stood frozen in place for a long moment, but not because she was considering her response. Certainly not - the fierce, almost wild love that had first reared its protective head on Sunday night was nearly overwhelming her being! But such a profound speech needed to be memorized, however quickly, and locked away in a memory vault of precious things to be revisited often. That, and she had been robbed of language. She stepped forward, cradling his head to her chest with almost crushing arms, and felt him give one hard, long sob against her breasts. The remaining shoe, which she had unknowingly kept in her hand, dropped unnoticed beside them.

Then his arms wrapped around her torso, and he was crushing her to him as well, and murmuring sweet things of which she could only hear half. Eventually, the moment of intense emotion ebbed. Hermione loosened Lucius’ hair from its clasp and ran her fingers through it lovingly, feeling him sigh deeply against her chest. “I forgive you.” The words gave her pause for thought, and she added, “You didn’t actually do anything wrong. I was horribly embarrassed, and your attitude was . . . it was like oil added to fire.”

Lucius loosened his hold on her and looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “Nevertheless, I hurt you.”

It felt odd looking down at the great and powerful Lucius Malfoy, and she tugged him to his feet. She said firmly, “No. You did not  _ hurt _ me, Lucius. I was mortified and ran away from the issue like a coward. I should have stayed and talked with you. Will you . . . will you talk with me about it now?” She glanced up shyly, and Lucius held his arm out gallantly, drawing hers under it.

“There is a spot around the bend – perhaps we could sit there,” he offered. “Is that to your liking?” 

Hermione’s mouth twitched with slight amusement.  _ He’s trying to please me. _ Outwardly she simply nodded, and the two set off arm in arm. A few minutes later, seated on a bench under a willow tree on the bank of the river, she at last talked with him.

She began by asking bluntly, “Am I the only person in the world who has a problem with the fact that our lives are scrutinized by portraits?” 

Lucius looked puzzled. “How does that bother you?”

“You must be joking! Lucius, these characters in magical paintings – they’re voyeurs! Did you know, for instance, that the Fat Lady of Gryffindor tower seems to know the dimensions of your . . . you  _ know _ what I mean.” A glance out of the corner of her eyes toward him proved he did.

He smirked. “I imagine many other portraits do as well, then.”

“That isn’t creepy in the slightest sense?” Her expression probably matched the incredulous tone of her voice, if her face was as expressive as Lucius had said.

He seemed to be trying to see it from her viewpoint, and finally said confidently, “This is because you were raised in the Muggle world.”

“I don’t see how that comes to bear on voyeurism, Lucius. It’s the same in both worlds!”

Lucius shook his head. “Voyeurism is purely of a sexual nature, pet. The portraits watch  _ everything _ that goes on around them.”

She couldn’t help but notice he had once again reverted to his favorite nickname for her, and the fact pleased her. Then she processed his other words. “That’s even worse!” Then she realized that Lucius’ point of view was completely opposite of hers and not likely to change.  _ This conversation isn’t going to go anywhere. _ She changed topics. “Grand-père Louis didn’t need to follow the . . .  _ show _ . . . from frame to frame.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “No other portrait in this house would have done so, most likely, but I find it difficult to assign him blame.”

_ There had better be a very good reason _ . “Will you please tell me why you don’t seem to mind the fact that your ancestor watched me undress halfway and then told you about it in detail?”  _ And asked you a question that could only have come from a debauched mind? _

“You are too far away from me, my prize.” She was curled up against his side, but knew exactly what he meant – she’d just been thinking how much nicer it would be to be sitting on his lap. When she complied, he pulled her head down against his shoulder and stroked her hair. “I realize it is unlikely that anything I say will have any bearing on your opinion, but perhaps, in time, you will understand. I have been alone every night in this house, save for business trips and Christmas and summer holidays, for eight long years. The house elves care for me without fault, but don’t offer much in terms of conversation-“

Realization was dawning quickly, and she interrupted, “The portraits kept you company.”

“Hmmmmm. Magical portraits have many household functions – for instance, they often act as sentries, and provide wisdom or information. In this case, they have also, as you say, kept me company. Louis regularly kept me from drowning in Firewhiskey through the worst years, and we grew close. He is every bit as crass as I can be, although you’d never know that as he won’t speak to any woman, and we have talked about you together almost incessantly.”

Hermione inhaled a calming breath of Lucius’ fragrant skin before she replied, “That explains his commentary, but it doesn’t excuse the fact that he was watching in the first place!”

Lucius kissed the top of her head. “Louis watched you for a reason, pet.” When her curiosity won out over her other emotions, she looked up questioningly and he continued, “The future Mistress of the Manor and the young Master were without direct supervision, and he alone stood guard over her virtue.” At her raised eyebrow he added with a twinkle in his eyes, “ _ And _ he happened to enjoy his job immensely."

She snorted involuntarily, allowing herself to see the humor in Lucius’ words, before asking reproachfully, “Has he been watching us in your study as well?”

“Absolutely not. He might worry about Draco’s self-control, but he knows that I will only take you to our bed unsullied.” 

_ I’m pretty sure I’ve been sullied – at least somewhat. _ The idea of being taken to bed by Lucius sent a tiny shiver along her spine, but not enough to distract her from their conversation. 

Lucius, too, seemed more inclined to talk than anything else at the moment. He chuckled, and Hermione felt the vibrations pass from his chest into hers in a comforting, intimate way. “I keep an empty frame in my bedroom just for him, and every night the old bastard asks me if I’ve kept my trousers fastened. It’s become a point of pride to me that I’ve been able to answer that to the affirmative to this point.”

She had returned to her nook, but now raised her head again with a disbelieving smirk. “ _ That’s _ why you haven’t wanted to . . .?” Internally, she was already plotting his downfall.  _ Lucius doesn’t always need to win, and he certainly doesn’t need to always be in control _ .

He gave her a wolfish smile reminiscent of the one that had preceded this whole debacle, and once again she blushed in reaction. “Believe me pet, my choice has little to do with what I  _ want _ .” He kissed her temple, sighing. “Are you ready to go back? I’m sure Draco has spent the past hour worrying.”

Thoughts of her younger wizard and his sensitive spirit softened the knowledge that she would indeed be forced to go back to the Manor.  _ I can’t avoid it forever – after all, it’s my home now.  _ Hermione gave a sigh of her own. As she slipped from his lap, she said quietly, “I understand that Louis did what he felt was his duty, and that he had a right to say whatever he wished in a private conversation with you, but I . . . what I mean to say is . . . errrrr, does he gossip with the other portraits?”

Lucius gave a loud, happy laugh, cupping her cheeks as he did so. “I find that I do not care in the least. It would please me very much for every wizard dead and alive to know what a perfect witch I have won.” At her pleading look, he added, “I have never known Louis to be anything but the embodiment of discretion.” He stood and drew her arm under his once more, and they set off along the path toward the Manor. “You know, he lost his brothers and their House Wife to dragonpox.”

“That’s terrible! Surely the cure had been found by then – Gunhilda of Gorsemoor developed it in the late 1500s!” Hermione’s attention was divided once again between Lucius and the abundance of waterfowl on the river. The sun sparkled, highlighting the fast flowing current beautifully, and Hermione knew in her heart that she only noticed this now because she had made peace with her wizard.  _ My wonderful, impossible, filthy-mouthed, arrogant Lucius! _

Lucius’ left hand came up to rest over hers on his right forearm, and his thumb rubbed softly against the inside of her wrist. “She didn’t finish refining it until 1621, which was ten years too late for the Malfoy family. Louis was left as the last of the family for a hundred years, and didn’t find another Bespoke Witch until he was nearly one hundred-twenty.” Hermione wrinkled her nose, trying to imagine being courted by someone the Headmaster’s age – or even worse, being intimate with them. Lucius seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, because he added with a twinkle, “A comely little Danish thing – her only picture hangs in the portrait gallery. He sired four sons by her.”

“Errrrr . . . How nice for him.”  _ No wonder Lucius wants to prove that he has the self-control of a saint – his friend was abstinent for a century! And then proceeded to . . . _ The young witch turned the conversation away from the unpleasant mental image. “How will tonight be different from last night?”

They walked in silence for a time, as Lucius seemed to consider his answer. “The wards still stand, and there is no reason we cannot use the site a second time - unless you prefer Mademoiselle Delacour presiding over the ceremony?” 

Hermione had expected at least one suggestive comment from him over the course of the past two topics, and was surprised at his restraint. Then she remembered that he appeared to be trying to please her. She smiled up at him angelically. “I should probably go straight to my room when we get back so that I can get ready.”

“If you like, pet.” He looked down at her quizzically.

She looked away from him, to the fields and Manor on her right, and mused, “I think I’ll take a bubble bath, and then rub some of that lovely scented oil into my skin.” Her words were met with silence, but his hand flexed over hers in an involuntary way. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling. “I wonder if Fleur will rub my back for a while, too, before I get dressed . . .” Lucius made a strangled sound, but she went on relentlessly, “Tonight I want to wear the traditional white robe. With nothing underneath it.”

They reached a path that branched off toward the Manor before Lucius finally managed to respond, “Surely you are trying to kill me, pet.”

She looked up through her eyelashes at her handsome wizard as innocently as she possibly could. “Draco is always saying the same thing. Aaaaagh!” The path began an abrupt, steep incline toward the house, and Hermione had completely forgotten to gather her skirts. The result was that she tripped spectacularly, and the ground rushed up to meet her far too quickly.

“I’m sure he is,” Lucius muttered as he caught her neatly around the waist. He set her back on her feet, noticing her lack of shoes as if for the first time. “This won’t do. Come here, my lovely one.” He swung her up into his arms easily, ignoring her protests.

Eventually Hermione gave up arguing for the right to walk.  _ If Lucius wants to carry me, and I like being this close to him, why on earth am I fighting against it? _ She wrapped her arms around his neck tenderly, leaning into her nook and inhaling the scent of the war stake, her Amortentia, and the Malfoy wizards. 

Halfway up the stone steps, she kissed his jaw. “Lucius, I know you’re trying to behave yourself, and that you think I was offended by what you said earlier, but it’s unnecessary. I . . . I love the way you are.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And how is that, pet?” He truly didn’t seem to find carrying her a bother, and she wondered absently if he’d used a wordless Levitation Charm. Then again, he’d carried her from the dungeons of Hogwarts all the way to the infirmary a few days ago . . .

The young witch raised her free hand to his face, stroking his cheek lovingly. “Wonderful, impossible, vulgar, arrogant,” she paused when he narrowed his eyes, watching as he tried to keep his beautiful mouth from twitching. “Shall I go on?”

“That will do.” They reached the top of the steps to find Draco rising from a nearby bench with an expectant expression on his face. Lucius leaned his face into hers, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You love that I’m difficult?” At her nod he kissed her again, teasing her mouth with his. He continued in a silky tone, “You love that I make you blush with filthy words?” She may have groaned a little, causing him to smirk. He kissed her a third time, tasting the seam of her lips with his tongue before pulling away. “You love that my confidence is absolute?”

“ _ Of course _ ,” Hermione growled, pulling his face down to hers with a handful of long, pale hair. With her lips and tongue she tried to steal the kiss that he’d been denying her, but it was too late. Lucius was already giving it to her freely, and it was one of his patented tonguefuls that left her cross-eyed and addled. When they broke apart to breathe, she managed to whisper, “I love you.”

Lucius set her on her feet. As he stood back to his full height, he caught her eye and gave a small, contented smile – not a smirk at all. Hermione was just thinking that it caused him to look handsomer than she’d ever seen him before, but then she was distracted from the thought as he whispered her own words back to her.

“Is everything alright, then?” Draco’s question broke the spell of the moment. He stood a few feet away, looking between them hopefully.

Hermione reached out and tugged him closer with a smile. “Yes Draco - other than the fact that I’m considering purging every potentially curious portrait in the Manor, all is well.”

Lucius, who still held her in his arms, chuckled. “In time you’ll gain self-assurance, and, in turn, perspective. Until then, pet, simply pay more attention to your surroundings.” He turned to Draco. “All is on schedule for tomorrow?”

Draco ran a hand lightly over Hermione’s curls and down her back. “Molly has done a consummate job, Lucius. Every detail has been executed and every contingency anticipated. All is in order for our gift to her and Arthur as well. We’re officially done - the Weasleys will be leaving soon.”

Until then, Hermione hadn’t noticed anything beyond her husbands-to-be, but now she glanced around and saw that Fleur was now talking with Percy, and Molly was sitting with the other two Weasley wizards on a bench not far off. Much farther away, Harry and Luna seemed to be . . . the young witch looked away quickly. “Oh! Molly and I have plans to visit before she leaves. I really should go-“ She struggled to escape from four strong arms suddenly intent on wrapping around her, “I should- Honestly, you two! Let go!” It was both amusing and irritating how insistent they were that she stay longer. 

“I hardly think Molly will leave without saying goodbye, my prize. Surely there’s no rush,” Lucius said in his most persuasive tone, running the back of one hand down her cheek and throat and then back and forth over her collarbones.

Draco especially refused to let go. “I haven’t really seen you since brunch, and now you’re leaving again? That’s hardly fair, little witch.” He leaned low and placed a soft, wet kiss just beneath her ear, causing her to shudder. Her reaction must have pleased him, because she felt him smile against the sensitive skin there. He murmured, “Stay with me.”

She laughed. “Absolutely not. We  _ just _ saw each other at brunch, and  _ ooooh _ . . .” It was her younger wizard’s turn to laugh as he pulled his lips from her neck. Hermione pushed him firmly away. “No, really, Draco. I have to go. Is that . . . Are you  _ whining _ ?!” He was indeed. Finally, she disentangled herself from the two of them and backed slowly away. “May we have dinner again like we did last night?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Draco seemed to be resigned to her leaving, although he followed her retreat and pressed several lingering kisses to her willing mouth. “Eight o’clock in the library.”

She nodded, blew a kiss to Lucius and, as she turned to flee toward the Weasley House Wife, added saucily, “I’m going to wear white robes.” Then she took off, skirts gathered high to avoid another fall.

Molly must have been watching for her, because she excused herself from her sons and met the young witch halfway. “Oh, Hermione, I’m so glad to see that smile on your face!” She gave her a warm hug and beamed, “Can you believe it? There’s not one single thing left to do, except for you and me to spend a little time together. Now, where should we sit?”

Hermione was grateful the motherly witch didn’t add any more to her observation, because she didn’t exactly want to draw any more attention to the fact that she’d had a tantrum. From their nearby bench Charlie and Bill raised their hands in greeting, and she smiled and waved back. “Errrrr, perhaps somewhere a bit more private?”

Molly nodded in understanding. “It  _ is _ a bit busy out here, isn’t it! What about your room?” At the Hermione’s agreeable nod, she called out to the nearby chaperone. “Yoohooooo! Time to say good-night, Fleur!”

Fleur looked less than happy to be interrupted, but dutifully headed toward them after a brief exchange with each of the Weasley men. In her usual direct way, she said to Hermione, “You don’t have to be in the library until eight o’clock. What’s the rush?” Then, at Hermione’s questioning look, added, “Draco talked to me after you stomped off.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I did  _ not _ stomp off.”

“You most certainly did. It was  _ exactly _ the sort of tantrum Gabi would have,” the Frenchwoman argued in a superior tone.

“Did you just call me a fifteen year-old?” The young witch’s hackles raised in annoyance. “And it was  _ not _ a tantrum!”

Molly bustled them toward the Manor at a brisk pace. “That’s enough, girls. You’ve had a long day, and there’s no reason to take out your frustrations on each other.”

The truth of those words struck Hermione forcefully – it  _ had _ been a long day. The thought of trudging all the way across the Manor and up to her suite was suddenly daunting, and she turned reluctantly to Fleur. “I don’t suppose you’d mind . . .?” She mimed a twirling gesture with one hand.

“Of course, my friend. After all,” she waited for Molly to spin into Disapparition before adding smugly, “You must be exhausted after that tantrum.” And without giving Hermione time to respond, she spirited them to their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cochran4444, Patrice Edgely, Lexilove, Ninabjorn, and Catwithabat:
> 
> Thank you so much for your love notes! I'm so glad you like BW enough to leave a comment/kudo!!! In fact, if you peeps send an email to me at bespokewife@gmail.com, I would like to send each of you the next chapter early :)
> 
> Mwah!
> 
> -G-


	66. Thursday Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, precious pets! This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Sellie, who was adventurous enough to play my game earlier this week (and from whom I shamelessly stole tonight's salutation). Well done!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Final Alpha Reader/Beta:CoquetteKitten

Thursday Evening

When the accompanying tilt-and-spin sensation of Side-Along had passed, Hermione turned to her friend to speak, but was interrupted by a suddenly uneasy-looking Fleur. “Hermione, I shouldn’t have provoked you like that. You’re not a child, and you’re certainly allowed to act on your feelings without my commentary.”

The young witch’s heart gave a tight squeeze of affection for her chaperone.  _ She’s afraid she’s going to lose her first real friend.  _ “Fleur, you’re very good at winding me up, but then again I’m  _ very _ impatient and easily annoyed. I know you’re doing it in fun.”  _ Most of the time.  _ Fleur still looked anxious, and Hermione continued, “Are you offended when I tease you about the Weasley wizards?”

The Frenchwoman gave a small, shy smile. “No, it actually makes me feel . . . as though I’m a part of something. I don’t really know how to express it.”

“Yes – you’re part of a friendship! The way we interact with each other shows that we’ve grown close.” She reached out and clasped Fleur’s hand firmly. “And in case you didn’t notice, I’m friends with Ginny Weasley, who substitutes insults for compliments on a regular basis. I’ve been conditioned to equate constant irritation with love.”

Fleur nodded happily, squeezing Hermione’s hand. “I really like Ginny. If my father grants the Weasley stake precedence, I will have made  _ two _ friends!”

Hermione’s heart squeezed again, this time because she herself knew exactly how lonely the world could be.  _ I never had friends, either, before Harry and Ron, and then Ginny and Luna.  _ “Oh, Fleur – you’re as silly as Draco sometimes! Regardless of whether you become a Weasley, Ginny and I will always consider you a friend. Don’t forget Luna, too. She might be slightly off her rocker, but Luna is wonderful!” Fleur flushed deeply and muttered something. Hermione asked, “What was that?”

“I said she’s flexible, too,” the chaperone repeated, wearing an expression that was both embarrassed and amused. “She and Harry, in the garden . . .”

The remark caused Hermione to give the most indelicate snort of her life, and the two witches collapsed against each other in a fit of hysterical giggling. 

Just then Molly bustled in from the dressing room. “I heard that! And laugh all you want, but those two are giving me my first grandbaby. That means they can do  _ whatever _ they like just so long as it results in  _ babies _ .” She gave them each a meaningful look. “I expect  _ lots _ of grandbabies from the both of you as well.”

_ I will not be . . . doing what Harry and Luna were just doing. At least with an audience.  _ Hermione tried to work out the logic of Harry and Luna’s baby being a Weasley and gave up. Fleur had reverted to blushing furiously with a tiny smile on her lips. Then the rest of Molly’s words sank in, and she asked, “How will Harry and Luna’s child be a Weasley?”  _ How would a Malfoy child be a Weasley? _

The Weasley Wife crossed the room to stand with them and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t  _ you _ tell  _ me _ who my grandchildren are!” She broke into an excited grin and hugged the two young witches, kissing them both on the tops of their heads. At last she released them. “Now, I was promised a nice chat with one of my favorite girls.” She looked at Hermione expectantly.

Once again the curly-haired witch was lagging behind in the conversation, still caught up on the fact that Molly had all but ordered her to procreate. Somehow that didn’t bode well for the talk Hermione had all but begged for. “Errrrr . . .” she glanced at her retreating chaperone, thinking quickly.  _ How much of a buffer would Fleur be in a potentially awkward conversation?  _ She sighed.  _ Probably not nearly enough.  _

“I’ll just be . . .” Fleur made a graceful motion with one hand and wandered off through the open French windows to the balcony, a dreamy look on her lovely face. They watched as she Transfigured a large, ornate vessel of roses into a poufy chair and sank into it.

“Well, where shall  _ we _ sit, sweetheart? How about there, on the couches?” Molly led the way toward the small seating arrangement in the center of the large main room, where two small couches and a few chairs surrounded a low table. When they were seated next to each other, she asked brightly, “What was Fleur saying about being in the library at eight o’clock?”

Hermione considered the motherly witch’s mask of innocent inquiry skeptically.  _ Draco told Fleur, and he probably wanted the boys to know. Chances are, Molly knows as well. Still, it’s sweet of her to pretend. _ “The rune that chose me – the one that I took last night – is part of a pair, it seems. Draco will mark me with the other tonight.”

“Oh, my dear – how thrilling! That’s very rare.” 

Molly certainly wasn’t faking her excitement, and Hermione responded with a small, self-conscious smile. “Is that . . . I mean to say, it’s not weird or anything, is it?”

“Certainly not! Hermione, dear, every Bespoke Witch is different, and her rune – or runes, in your case – fits her magical signature. Runes and wands are very similar in that sense. Why don’t you tell me the history of the first one that chose you?”

Hermione’s hand rose unconsciously to her left breast. “The only other witch it ever chose was the first Wife of this House, and I guess there are no records. Draco had three runes reset, two of which happened to be the pair. The keeper of the runes didn’t say anything since he thought Draco chose them intentionally.”

The motherly witch gave a knowing nod. “I’m sure the covenant led him to do so in the first place, whether he knows it or not. We witches are often more intuitive when it comes to House magic, but our wizards’ blood is infused with it from birth. They follow its guidance without ever realizing it.” She patted Hermione’s hand. “Two runes, and in the traditional form, no less! I’m sure Lucius and Draco are practically beside themselves.” 

Molly’s eyes grew speculative, and Hermione was torn between continuing the conversation about her runes and running as far away from it as possible. “It can’t be that unusual – Astoria had  _ three _ , as I vividly recall.”

“No, she three  _ piercings _ – didn’t you hear her specify that? I’m certain she only has one rune – it’s the norm, after all. Still, the  _ things _ the Nott wizards get up to! I can only imagine . . .” She trailed off, a heated light in her eyes. That usually signaled it was time to switch topics, but Hermione really needed clarification.

She asked, bracing for Molly to take complete advantage of her continued interest. “Are people going to think I’m a deviant?”

Molly snapped out of her reverie. “Hmmmmm? Oh, Hermione! Oh, sweetheart!” She gathered the curly-haired witch into her comforting arms. “You’ve got to let go of this idea that certain views or acts are depraved or deviant. Tell me, this morning at breakfast when Lucius had you eating from his plate – now don’t look so shocked, surely you knew you had an audience! – did you find his taste in foods to be deviant?”

“No, of course not. He’s obviously experienced a much broader variety of foods, if only because he’s that much older than me,” Hermione argued in a superior tone, even as she shamelessly snuggled into her mother-figure’s side.

Molly continued in a low voice, gently stroking her fingers over Hermione’s curls, “And when he’s used that same life-experience to teach you something new about your body, or his – has the word ‘depraved’ come to mind?”

She shook her head with certainty. “Lucius isn’t deviant  _ or _ depraved.”

“Did you like your spanking today?”

Hermione jolted upright and scooted to the other arm of the little loveseat.  _ Is nothing a secret in this house?! _ “How do you know about that?”

“Other than the fact that the two of you spoke of it openly outside your bedroom, he dragged you to his study _relatively_ _alone_ after you’d defied his wishes _and_ you returned to the Great Hall with a very sated look and a stiff gait.” Molly ignored the young witch’s spluttering, adding, “The only reason I know it was _only_ a spanking was because you’re not yet wedded. Now answer my question.”

She drew a deep, calming breath.  _ I invited Molly to have this talk. I brought up the subject. Molly is like a mother to me.  _ Finally she said, “Yes.”

“And, knowing what you do now of that practice, do you think it to be deviant?”

“No! It’s not something I’m comfortable  _ talking _ about,” she laid heavy stress on that word without any real hope of Molly picking up on it, “But I . . . I . . .”

“You  _ liked _ it,” Molly supplied. “Well, of course you did! But I’m sure if someone had told you last week that your elder wizard was going to put you over his knee and slap you to orgasm, you would have classified it as a  _ deviant act _ . The truth is, most witches like a well-administered spanking! And there are plenty of other things you’ll find are every bit as enjoyable, even though they’ll be new and strange to you. Just you wait until Lucius or Draco-“

Hermione interrupted quickly, “Got it! You’re saying that just because something is new or different, it isn’t necessarily depraved.” The fact that she didn’t have to look her mother-figure directly in the eye made it possible to see the light at the end of the conversation. “I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s, errrrr . . . let’s talk about tomorrow, please.” It occurred to her that she hadn’t yet blushed, and it seemed quite an accomplishment to her.

Molly turned toward her. “Tomorrow will be a very long day, for you, I’m afraid. The reception will start at the sun’s zenith and will continue until it sets. You and your wizards will stand and receive each of your guests, and spend the rest circulating amongst them.”

Hermione quickly calculated the length of time based on the current time of year. “An eight hour reception? That’s ridiculous!” Apparently Molly was serious, judging by the look on her face. “And obviously nonnegotiable at this point. What happens after that?”

“When the sun sets all the guests will leave, save for the ones who will attend the wedding ceremony. They’ll dine with Lucius and Draco while we eat together here and begin preparing you for the full-moon ceremony.”

Once again, Hermione was struck by how much the covenant had influenced her in the past two weeks. “I fully planned on researching those.” She sighed and finished in an ironic tone, “Instead I spent the time getting to know my wizards.”

Molly was laughing again. “I’m not sure how you would have researched that at school, sweetheart. It’s not something that’s written down for just anyone to read, although I’m sure the Malfoy library has something. Did you find time to read your book today, by the way?” She was looking at Hermione with another falsely innocent smile.

“Actually, Ginny told me your orders, and then she must have taken the book with her when she ran an errand for me. So, no – I didn’t ‘enjoy’ my book.” Hermione growled this last part, earning more laughter from her mother-figure. “I don’t see how that’s funny, Molly!”

“Oh, Hermione – any other witch would want to know what her dress looked like, or if there would be dancing at the reception! Instead, you want a book. Very well,” Molly twisted to look over her shoulder toward the other end of the room, dug out her wand, and then Summoned something from under Hermione’s bed, “Here you are – one book as promised. I’ll leave you be until it’s time to get ready, and in the meantime . . .”

Molly’s voice faded away as Hermione finally –  _ finally _ ! – held the Malfoy diary that Bowly had brought her so many hours ago. It wasn’t much larger than her hand, and she opened the leather cover carefully. On the inside page, in delicate script, was a name and a date: Yolande Malfoy, 1732. The date jarred a recent memory.  _ This would be the House Wife to Louis’ sons! _ Hermione turned the page, applied a high-level translating charm to the obscure French dialect, and was instantly sucked into the story of another Bespoke Witch.

  
  


_ This day have I accepted the stake of Monsieurs Malfoy, and taken the rune of their most august House. Jules and Étienne themselves have marked my body, and for my part I did not protest in the least, though having been raised in a motherless state, I was without preparation. Victor and Claude, one and two years shy of the age of majority respectively, observed keenly.  _

_ It was Jules who, knowing of my sheltered state, taught me my own appetite during the ritual, whilst Étienne held me tenderly and whispered words of regard for my person. Together their words and caresses affected me in such a way that I became almost sick with need for something of which there was no name, and I broke into a sweat as if fevered, pleading for mercy until I experienced what I now know is called ‘the little death’. _

_ Now I leave my father’s House in the company of Monsieur Therriot, my chaperone, and my fiancées for  _ _ Languedoc-Roussillon as Wife-to-be of the House of Malfoy, with the passionate eyes of Jules fixed on me always and the compelling words of  _ _ Étienne falling softly on my ears. _

Hermione blinked and paused before turning the page.  _ Well, that was a very old-fashioned way of saying that her corruption had begun _ . She wondered where Yolande had come from, and what her expectations had been of marriage.  _ She was an ingénue like me. _ She read another page.

_ We arrived at Maison de Malfoy by Apparition. Madame Malfoy is quite young, and although her French is only passable it is pleasant to have the company of another woman. The younger Malfoy wizards returned at once to school, having been allowed to leave only for our acceptance ceremony. Jules and Étienne are most attentive always, their thoughts straying rarely from the appetites of which I was taught so recently. I have learned from Monsieur Therriot in his grandfatherly way that such things are natural and right, so long as the rules of courtship are followed. He dozes in his chair by the fire in the Great Hall, wishing only to be disturbed when meals are served, and even then he sleeps through the main course. My fiancées and I are pleased by this, using such freedom to become acquainted with each other in all manner of ways. When Madame Malfoy is not present, I find myself becoming increasingly wanton in my desires. Today I . . . _

Hermione read the next several pages in an agitated state, reacting to the sensual words of her predecessor. Regardless of its original intent, the diary could easily be classified as erotic literature. She shook her head _. _ When she’d asked for the little book, it had never occurred to her that the content might be other than strictly informative about Pureblood tradition and culture. She skipped ahead through several pages of steamy descriptions until she found their wedding:

_ Today we wed, the three of us, and began a new generation of the Malfoy family. Madame Malfoy woke me early and helped me bathe and dress, and we broke fast together, whilst she explained what was to come. Jules and Étienne gave me their marriage gifts – this diary and a pair of rune shields of such intricate work that they are obviously Goblin wrought. Jules himself put it on my person, although as his mother stood in attendance his actions were discreet. Then I put on the gown prepared for me, and was most pleased to see that my new shield was visible through the fine fabric.  _

_ Visitors came from many different places, and my feet ached from standing until I remembered to cast a Cushioning Charm on my slippers. There was a lavish dinner, followed by dancing well into the night, and when the moon rose Jules Apparated me away . . .” _

Several pages of vividly described conjugal bliss later, Hermione snorted.  _ Well, that just figures – I got the diary of a distracted witch who didn’t notice the details of her own wedding! _ She closed the little book carefully and looked around for Molly, noticing the time as she did so. It was already seven o’clock!

Hermione stood and walked to her dressing room, laying the diary down on the table.  __ She turned to the bathroom, tugging off her garments (and performing a Bubblehead Charm to keep her hair dry) as she went. Under the hot spray of the shower, she considered what she’d read. Yolande’s experience was much like her own, with the exception that great sex, babies, and society parties were probably the highest aspirations the eighteenth-century witch ever had. That caused her to give a loud, pitying sigh, and she turned her thoughts elsewhere until it was time to get out.

Molly interrupted her musings. “Yoohoo! Here’s a cozy robe, sweetheart!” The motherly witch began siphoning steam out of the air with her wand. “Alright, now drop that charm and rub some oil into your skin. I expect you in the dressing room in five minutes. Hop, hop!”

Five minutes later, Hermione allowed Molly to herd her to the dressing table, secretly loving the Weasley Wife’s hands-on style of care. Her own mother had been similar, although not as overbearing, and often did things like brush Hermione’s hair while she studied.  _ I want to be like them, so my children know how much I love them just by the way I touch them. _ Molly noticed the diary as she prompted the young witch to sit down. “Did you find out anything helpful so far?”

“Errrrrr, not exactly. This particular witch was a little preoccupied with sex without ever specifically using that word. Actually, I have a question for you. What’s a rune shield?” The words had no sooner come out of her mouth than she regretted them.  _ Dear, sweet, merciful Merlin let her not know. _

Merlin must have been busy with other requests. Molly beamed and began smoothing Hermione’s tangled curls. “Now, that’s the spirit, Hermione! Ask  _ practical _ questions that are readily answered. Rune shields are much like jewelry – you received a gorgeous heirloom pair from Albus and Minerva!”

Hermione called to mind what, at the time, had looked to be a pair of elegant platinum and emerald chandelier earrings. “Circe on a . . . the Headmaster gave me . . . ” She trailed off weakly. “Please tell me that’s not weird.”

Molly made a scoffing noise. “Oh, you and your preoccupation with the word ‘weird’! Every father gives each daughter of his House a set. It’s very traditional, and Albus acted as your father when he negotiated the stakes during the war. And what a lucky witch you are, to be able to wear both! Where are they? You should try one on!”

“Absolutely not! But, errrrr, thank you for the information. Do I even dare ask if they have a purpose?” _ Please answer in five words or less and then be easy to distract. _

“Well, of course they do! The tradition is one of the most ancient – and  _ is _ something that could be easily researched. Better yet, ask that young wizard of yours!” When this answer didn’t seem to be enough for the curly-haired witch, Molly continued, “In Pure-blood society, the rune is often heavily adorned, and it can be glimpsed through a witch’s gown. House runes are a point of pride for our wizards, and shields are as well – sometimes even more so.” As if reading Hermione’s mind, she added with a mischievous grin, “Those of us who wear our runes as marks on our skin have our  _ own _ equivalent.”

Hermione blinked several times, processing Molly’s words. “If it’s all the same, I think I’ll forego the shields.” 

“Oh, no! No, no, no – you’ll deeply disappoint your wizards, Draco especially! A younger husband always gives them as a wedding gift. No doubt you’ll receive a pair from him before the reception.”

Hermione’s chin came up, jaw set firmly, and a steely light shone in her eyes. “Obviously the purpose of them is to draw attention to a witch’s breasts, and I refuse to put myself on display – to be ogled.  _ No _ rune shields.”

Molly rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. “Hermione, you have got to stop assuming the worst about things! No one will be  _ ogling _ anyone -  _ that  _ would be depraved. First of all, any Pure-blood wizard in attendance will either be married or  _ waiting patiently _ for his Bespoken one. The unattached might cast an appreciative glance, but not inappropriately. And as for you not wanting to be on display: Hermione,  _ every _ bride is on display. You’ll be no different- ah, ah, ah!” She held up a hand when Hermione tried to interject, and finished, “And you’ll find that you like it. I’ll say only one more thing on the subject: think very carefully before you reject such a gift from Draco.  _ Talk to him first _ .”

Her tone was one of warning. Hermione nodded reluctantly, choosing not to pursue the argument for now. Molly had come for this talk at  _ her _ request, after all, after a long day of working on  _ her _ wedding reception – the least she could do was be respectful and listen to her advice.  _ Besides, the last thing I want to do is hurt Draco’s feelings. _ She gave an inward sigh, wondering if there was any way around this tradition. Outwardly, she said, “Fine. I’ll talk to him about it.”

That seemed to be all that Molly wanted to hear, because she gave a satisfied smile. “Good girl. Now do your face and I’ll hunt down the white robes.” She left the young witch alone at the dressing table and turned to the wall of closets. Hermione carefully performed one of the beauty charms she’d learned from Ginny’s book, glad that her mother-figure was no longer hovering over her shoulder.  _ With my luck she’d say something shocking at a critical point, and I’d put my eye out with my wand. _ When Molly did return, it was with an armful of heavy white satin. “Here you are, sweetheart! I’ll just go find Fleur.”

Hermione changed into the ceremonial robes, buttoning them from neck to foot with a flick of her wand, and walked to a nearby looking glass. The garment fell in heavy folds around her body, hiding her figure and trailing along the floor behind her. The sleeves were long and cut wide, and the hood, which hung down over her back, was long and pointed.  _ I look like a sacrificial virgin. _ She could hear Fleur and Molly in the outer room and went to them. “I’m ready.”

Fleur gave an approving nod. “Very traditional.” She turned to Molly. “We’ll see you in the morning?”

The Weasley Wife nodded, and Hermione was struck once again by how grateful she was to the kind woman. She gave her a tight squeeze. “Thank you, Molly.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, sweetheart - it’s you who’s let me be part of your life.  _ Thank you _ .” Her eyes were a bit teary, and she sniffed before pulling herself together. “That’s enough of that! I’ll be here right away in the morning. We’ll have a nice breakfast together here and get you ready. Plenty more time to talk then! Bye bye!” She shoo’d them with her hands, and Fleur took advantage of Hermione’s momentary distraction to Side-Along them to the corridor outside the library.

No sooner had the initial dizziness worn off than she rounded on her chaperone, intent on tearing into her for the irritating indignity. Fleur, however, was already dragging her along. “Honestly, Hermione! I thought you were looking forward to this, but no! You stand about, daydreaming like a witch in love!” She gave a small grin that was both endearing and slightly superior.

Hermione tugged her arm free of her friend’s grip as she kept up with her. “Just you wait until you have a chaperone of your own – they’re positively  _ awful _ .” Their eyes met, and they each struggled to maintain a straight face the longest.

Suddenly the huge doors swung open toward them, and Hermione only had thought for the handsome wizard in dress robes waiting further inside the library. She swept ahead. Draco stood by himself, casting his eyes up and down her heavily robed body in open admiration. Then he held out his hand for hers as she approached, and everything else was forgotten.

“Good evening, Miss Granger.” He was looking down at her with a dazzling smile, and the world tipped on its side for a moment. “Will you visit with me for a while?”

He was already leading her to the main seating area near the staircase. “Shouldn’t we be heading upstairs?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fleur already ascending to the site of the ceremony.

Draco stopped at a small couch and gestured for her to sit. “Not yet. Lucius said he didn’t mind.” The satin robes were slippery, and Hermione wrestled with them for a moment before successfully managing to stay put on the leather cushion. He sank down beside her, looking at his hands with a shy smile. “I wanted to have you to myself one last time before . . .” he trailed off, and she placed her hand on top of his much larger one. It seemed to give him encouragement, because he continued, “Tomorrow we won’t see other until just before the reception, and then we’ll be surrounded by crowds all day. Then you’ll go off to do whatever it is witches do before a full-moon ceremony, and Lucius and I will dine with the wedding party. Then we’ll be together in a crowd again, and after that . . .” He looked up at her, his ocean-colored eyes the stormiest she’d ever seen them. “I just wanted to be with you. Is that alright?”

She nodded with a deep blush, thinking of what he hadn’t said just then.  _ And then I’ll go to Lucius’ bed. And then to yours. _ “That’s a lot of ‘thens’, isn’t it?”

He treated her to an almost-smile, whispering, “Sit here with me. Let me hold you, Hermione,” and as he said the words, he held out the arm closest to her. She closed the distance between them, curling against his side. Draco gave a deep sigh of contentment as he drew her head down to his chest.

His scent assailed her nostrils, causing her curiosity to rear its head, and she wrestled against his hold to sit up. He was having none of it, though, and only tightened his grip, until finally she said in muffled tones against his robes, “Oof. I want to talk to you, Draco. Let go!”

He pretended not to understand her, but eventually gave in to her squirming and allowed her sit up partially. Hermione twisted around on the couch so that she was now facing him, and rested her hands on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I just had a question.”

Draco’s eyes were twinkling. “Hermione Granger doesn’t know something?”

She narrowed her eyes even as she smiled. “I just wondered how it is that you and Lucius can  _ both _ smell like my Amortentia.”

“And what does that smell like?” His finger barely brushed her cheek, sending a shiver down her back.

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Like . . .” Were there words for it? She searched her brain for apt descriptors, finally offering lamely, “ . . . like an ocean breeze without the salt. Like water.”

He laughed softly and teased, “Is that even a smell?” His hands moved her curls aside and came to rest on her back.

“It’s the most perfect  _ smell _ in the world, and if I could, I’d bathe in it,” she countered with a smile.

“Hmmmm. That’s worth imagining. What else don’t you know?” Draco asked softly. “Surely you have more burning questions that can’t be answered.”

Hermione poked a finger into the hard muscle of his upper arm. “Be careful, Mr. Malfoy. I’m not a witch to be trifled with.” She slid her satin-clad arms up over his shoulders and then wrapped them lovingly around his neck.

His eyes lit up at that, as if he were going to do just that, and so she was surprised when he said, “I asked Trinket for trifle again. She promised she’d make a special one for us tonight.”

The curly-haired witch snorted softly.  _ Why am I surprised that my nineteen year-old almost-husband can be sidetracked by the thought of food? _ “I’m sure it will be lovely.”

His fingers began tracing intricate patterns on her bare upper back. “Speaking of lovely, I like the way you smell too, little witch.” To prove his point, he leaned his head and took a deep breath near her temple. “But I can easily describe your scent: it’s warm, soft girl and bubbles, with a hint of old parchment and ink.” 

Hermione’s eyes, which had drifted closed in pleasure, opened at his words. She regarded the handsome blond wizard quietly before speaking, and when she did her voice was laced with wonder. “How did I miss noticing you all those years, Draco?” His face morphed into an expression of intense happiness, and she sat up to press a soft kiss to his beautiful mouth.

Neither seemed inclined to turn their visit into a pursuit of physical desire, and when their mouths broke apart, they simply sat quietly in each other’s arms for a time. Hermione’s slippery robes began working against her at that point, and she fought with them until Draco murmured, “Come here, sweetheart.” He patted his lap, holding out his arms to her again.

Hermione went to him gladly. She perched across his thighs and curled against his chest again, resting her head on his lean, broad shoulder. “Tell me something no one else knows about you.”

She could almost hear his brain spinning, and imagined his brow was now furrowed. “My fantasy Hermione had two runes.” A peek at his face showed his expression morphing quickly from concentration to regret. He squeezed his eyes shut. “That probably wasn’t something you needed to know.”

“Draco, look at me!” It was hard to maintain eye contact at the moment, but she struggled through her momentary discomfort. “Knowing that you think about me  _ that way _ , and have for a long time, makes me feel . . . desirable. But why two? I would have thought you’d prefer the norm,” Hermione pressed. She must have unconsciously raised her hand to her left breast, because when she followed Draco’s gaze, she saw it there. She withdrew it immediately, but his eyes remained fixed on the front of her robe. 

He shook his head and raised a hesitant hand to the left side of her chest, pausing before gently stroking his forefinger over the lush orb. Looking up at her, he replied, “I don’t expect you to understand, sweetheart, because it’s a-“

“A Pure-blood thing. Right,” she finished with a somewhat despondent sigh. “I’m beginning to hate that answer, you know.”

“I was going to say it’s a  _ wizard _ thing.” Draco’s finger made another pass over her breast, this time lingering on her rune. He repeated the action again as he spoke. “At the beginning of fourth year I became exceedingly aware of your body, and the Muggle clothes you wore back then only accentuated it. You were all long legs and tight little arse, and then  _ these _ began to grow right in front of me.” He looked up at her, his eyes beginning to darken as she watched. His words seemed to give him confidence, because he no longer looked uncomfortable. _ Hello, cocky Draco _ . “Do you know Hermione, that when you walk quickly your breasts bounce? I’ve known that since fourth year, when you had to lengthen your stride to keep up with Krum at the Yule Ball.” His hand flexed over the soft flesh. “It’s been very hard to keep from staring at your chest since then.”

Hermione drifted toward Draco even as she asked, “What does that have to do with runes?”

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers with a pleasurable moan. “I should think it’d be obvious.” His hands roamed over the parts of her body he’d just mentioned, one running up over her thigh to grasp her backside and the other resuming its place at her breast.

“Mind where you put your hands and answer my question,” she urged with a girlish squeal. Draco seemed to be dancing around the issue, and the young witch was now determined to get to the bottom of it.

Draco made a frustrated sound. “If I tell you, what will you give me?” 

“I’ll let you mark me with a second rune.” She narrowed her eyes at him, resisting the light fog of lust that was swirling in her mind.

He dropped his head onto her shoulder. “You’re going to make me tell you.” At her firm nod, cocky Draco reverted to earnest, blushing Draco, and he mumbled, “ _ PlayWitch _ models posing as Pure-bloods have both nipples pierced.” It wasn’t what she’d expected at all, and she must have looked shocked because her wizard added dismally, “The boys’ dormitories were full of  _ PlayWitch _ posters, and I wasn’t prepared at first. I learned to avoid them, but it only took a few glances to plant the idea.” 

_ He’s looking at me as though he’s afraid I’m going to hex him. _ Hermione’s mouth twitched. Her fragile feminine ego battled with her sense of humor briefly, but then curiosity took over. It didn’t escape her that he’d said  _ piercings _ rather than  _ runes _ , and she asked, “Why wouldn’t they just have one?”

“Hermione, two is _unbelievably_ _hot_ ,” he groaned.

His boyish answer sounded like something Harry would have said, and she snorted. “Draco, have you been looking at dirty pictures of naked women?”

A self-conscious chuckle emanated from deep in his chest and reverberated through her body. “The first time was when I walked into Adrian Pucey’s room. I saw someone waving to me out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, and then looked away as fast as I could. It happened more than I’d like to admit over the years. Lucius was adamant that I not sully my mind with images of other witches, and I knew he was right.” 

“If I  _ ever _ catch you waving back at a nude poster . . .” She opened her mouth to snicker, and he swallowed the sound with a kiss.

“I wanted one of you, Hermione. I used to imagine there was one on the inside of my bed’s canopy.” He pulled her closer and kissed her again.

Hermione pulled back slightly, strangely fascinated by the idea. “What did it look like, in your mind?”

He swallowed thickly, his ocean eyes now dark and stormy. “You, with nothing on but my opened Quidditch robes, riding my Firebolt. Two runes showing that you were mine, decorated with shields I’d given you. Do you have any idea how many times I came in my own hand to that image?” Draco’s erotic description hung in the air between them for a second. The fog of lust was thickening around her brain, and a heavy thrumming had begun deep inside her, pulsing along each nerve. “And now you’ll be my very own  _ PlayWitch _ ,” he murmured before he kissed her again hungrily.

When they finally broke apart to breathe, he murmured against the corner of her mouth, “I have a gift for you.” He reached for something on the nearby side table.

Through the haze in her brain, she recalled her conversation with Molly. _Sweet Circe, he’s going to give me his wedding gift now, and then expect me to wear_ _them tomorrow!_ She thought about the motherly witch’s advice to talk with Draco before rejecting his tradition. Hermione took a deep breath, clearing her mind as much as possible of both preconceived ideas and the addle of lust. She sat up slowly.

Draco held a small velvet pouch. He loosened the drawstring and, into his free hand, tipped out two large, sunburst-shaped pieces of ornate, silver, openwork filigree set with tiny green stones. Had she not known what they were, she would have assumed them to be large earrings – they were bigger than Galleons, and beautiful, and, judging by the heavy-lidded yet solemn look she was getting from her fiancé, very important. She reached out a tentative finger and brushed it over the beautiful thing. Finally she said, “They’re lovely.”

“I had these cast at the same time as your runes. They’re always made in pairs, although only one is used." He was holding them out, offering them to her on his palm, all the while holding her gaze. “It’s a traditional gift, symbolizing a wizard’s protection of his Bespoke Witch. She wears it in honor of him.” They gleamed at her from where he held them, but she couldn’t look away from Draco’s hopeful expression. “Will you wear them for me on our wedding day?”

For one brief moment a gleam of cunning shone in the blond wizard’s blue eyes, and Hermione wondered if his artless conversational style could have been a carefully constructed ruse.  _ Did he set that entire thing up? _ She considered the idea for a split second, but now his gaze held hers with a look of guileless hope.  _ And even if he did, I don’t know if I can say ‘no’. _ Honestly, when Draco looked at her like that, there was very little she wouldn’t agree to do. Still, she resisted. She picked up a shield, tracing the filigreed pattern. “First tell me more about these things.”

Draco looked as though he’d anticipated her counter. “The tradition is so old that it’s difficult to separate history from legend. It’s said that when the Wives of the ancient Houses were first marked with runes, the men of that time desired the marked witches for themselves. There was a war, and the Pure-blood wizards shielded the breasts of every witch in their household, thus hiding their Wives in plain sight. The war was won by the Houses, and all the witches cast away their shields save for the Bespoken ones, who continued to wear them in honor of their husbands’ valor and cunning.”

Hermione looked down at the ornament. “That’s fascinating.” She looked up at her wizard again. “And Pure-blood witches still wear these?”

He shook his head. “Only House Wives, and at every Pure-blood function. Although,” Draco held the shield in his own hand up to her left breast over her dress, “if I had my way, you’d wear them every day.” He handed the pretty thing to her, then shifted uncomfortably beneath her.

Hermione had been trying not to notice the hard bulge, which had begun pressing against her hip quite some time ago. After all, one of them needed to keep their wits about them in this conversation! “They may have started as a means to hide runes, but obviously over the years they’ve become a bit of a hang-up themselves, Draco,” she accused, softening her argument with a smile. She looked back down at the set of shields now in her hand.

“Say you’ll wear them, sweetheart.” He nuzzled her temple and kissed a trail down below her ear. “Honor me by wearing the symbol of my protection, little witch.”

He could have asked her to go topless to their reception and she would have tried to consider it with an open mind at that point, especially when his mouth moved to the skin of her neck. Hermione raised a hand to his head, running her fingers through his soft, platinum hair. “It sounds as though I should probably say yes. Ohhhh, that’s nice.” Desire was once again coursing through her body, and she moved to straddle his lap.

Draco’s firm hold on her prevented that. He broke away from her throat, straightening up so that she had to look up at him again. “Is that a yes, Hermione?”

The curly-haired witch nodded, and when it was clear he was waiting for a spoken answer, replied, “Yes, I’ll wear your rune shields for you.”

He gave an exultant smile, sliding her gently from his lap and standing with a hand outstretched to her. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go finish what we started last night!” No sooner had she given him her hand than he was yanking her to her feet, causing her to tumble laughingly into his arms. He tipped her head back even farther by a handful of curls and gazed down at her. Cocky Draco was back, and he gave her a confident, knickers-dampening smirk. “I’m going to mark you as my own, and you’ll be crying out my name as I do it.”

Lucius was waiting at the top of the staircase in one of his ubiquitous wingback chairs. He stood as they approached, extending a hand toward Hermione in that now-familiar gesture, and she responded in kind. He pressed a lingering kiss to the back of hers, where the silver handmark was half-faded. “Good evening, pet. Draco.” He drew her arm under his just as Draco put his hand on the small of her back from the other side, and then they walked to the site in their usual tangle of limbs. Lucius exchanged a quick look with Draco over her head. “Did you enjoy your visit?”

Neither of them bothered responding because it was time to begin the entrance ritual. Fleur called out the first question from her station, an impassive expression on her beautiful face. This time, Hermione listened silently to the exchange, enjoying and understanding the tradition. Within, the site was exactly as it had been before, and the low table laden with food beckoned welcomingly.

Hermione’s stomach rumbled in appreciation, and she all but dragged her wizards to the floor cushions. Draco hadn’t even fully sat down on her right when he began lifting the covers from the trays, spreading the aroma of apricots and cardamom through the air. “Ho, ho – Topsy cooked tonight! Lamb stew is her specialty!” He began spooning rice into bowls, and Lucius took each one in turn and topped it with the thick, meaty dish. At his direction, Hermione sprinkled almonds over the top of each. Their informal style meant that since everyone’s meal was plated at once, they could begin eating immediately, and for a while there as no sound except for the clink of silver against china.

Hermione finished first. Her attention was divided between Lucius, who ate in a slow, elegant manner, and Draco, who as usual managed to use his hands as much as possible as he consumed multiple servings of epic proportions. As he finished his last bowl, he caught her watching and winked playfully. She leaned back into Lucius’ arms with a sigh.  _ Where does he put all that food? _ “Did you leave room for trifle?”

At the word, Draco’s eyes lit up. “I  _ always _ have room for trifle.” Lucius had begun running his fingers through Hermione’s curls, causing her to moan in appreciation. The noise caught Draco’s attention, and he added in a considering tone, “Of course, we could always have it later.” He leaned forward and kissed her, tasting of the cinnamon, cloves and ginger used to spice the stew. When he pulled away, all the desire she’d fought during their earlier visit rushed back through her.

“Dessert is always made better by anticipation,” agreed Lucius. He tugged her hair until she turned toward him. “In the meantime, there are other sweet things to be tasted.” He pressed his mouth to hers, sucking at her bottom lip until she opened to him, and then thrust his tongue slowly against hers. The same combination of spices filled her mouth, and she gave another small moan.

When they broke apart breathlessly a minute later, the young witch gasped, “The trifle can wait.” She looked at her younger wizard again, heart pounding, waiting for his lead.

Draco was looking at her intently, his eyes growing darker by the second. “Are you ready?” At her nod, he stood and drew her up with him. He drew his wand and then the remaining two runes from a pocket of his robes.

Lucius was leaning in behind her, his hands on her hips and his mouth moving against her cheek. “You look quite tempting in these virginal robes, pet.” He pulled her back against him. “Enjoy wearing them this one last time.” She leaned back against him, letting his voice and words feed her growing arousal. 

Draco held out his open hand, on which sat the two tiny, jeweled bars. “Let it choose you, sweetheart.” She raised her hand to his, and once again Hermione felt the power of the Malfoy runes. 

She let her forefinger hover over one, feeling the magic begin licking along her skin. Suddenly it stopped, and it was as though the rune’s power retreated from her. “Not that one.” Lucius reached up a hand and removed the one she indicated, and in its absence the power of the second rune flared forth. As though there was a physical draw, Hermione’s finger came down heavily on it, and it latched onto her skin just as its mate had yesterday. “Oh.” She uncapped it and held it up between her fingers. “This one.”

Draco leaned down and kissed her again, at the same time unbuttoning her robes with a flick of his wand. He pushed the heavy satin fabric off her shoulders, and as his tongue pushed into her mouth, his hands moved over her bare torso. She gave a squirm of pleasure as he began tormenting her right nipple, rubbing it into a stiff peak. “Mmmmm. Mmmmm!” His mouth moved against hers, swallowing her sounds, and her body thrummed.

At some point one of Lucius’ arms had wrapped around her, pinning hers to her sides, and his free hand stroked down her stomach and slid between her legs. His silky voice murmured in her ear, “Such a lovely pet should be adorned with jewels.” He was pushing his fingers through her folds now, teasing her clitoris until she writhed against him, caught between the feel of her younger wizard’s mouth on hers and her elder wizard’s talented hand. “If you promise to keep your arms still, I’ll put my other hand to better use, sweetling.”

Draco broke their kiss. He panted against her cheek, “Walk me through this, please, Lucius.”

The elder Malfoy continued murmuring in his lazy drawl as if he were still speaking to her, his hands quickly establishing a torturous rhythm on her body: dip, stroke, flick, repeat. “Step one: tease our espoken one until she pleads for release. Have we accomplished the first step, Draco?” There was a groan against her neck. “She is wet and willing, but not begging. Talk to our witch. Tell her how you long to bend her over every desk in this library and take her from behind, her skirts pushed up and bodice pulled down so that you may take your pleasure from her lovely body.” Lucius’ hands moved between her legs and over her rune all the while he talked, and Hermione moved against them shamelessly. At his words a coil had begun to wind in her gut, and she applied her focus to it.

Draco’s rough voice picked up where Lucius left off. He spoke against her skin, slowly sliding his mouth down over her collarbone. “I want you, Hermione. I want you repeatedly and for the rest of my life.” She made another sound of desire at her clever wizard’s words, arching into the feel of his mouth. His lips moved against the inner curve of one breast, and she moved in an attempt to tempt him with one nipple. He took the bait but continued teasing her, speaking lightly against the aching bud. “This summer we’re going back to Hogwarts, and I’m going to have you naked in my old bed.”

“Draco-o-o-o,” she moaned helplessly, and finally his mouth latched onto her. The coil wound tighter, demanding both more pleasurable torture at Lucius’ hands and also release. “Lucius, please.”

Lucius’ hands worked her body mercilessly, and the noises she made were louder and more desperate. His voice was rough now, too, as he said, “Step number two: mark our witch. Take the rune from her. Do you remember the incantation?”

Draco’s fingers closed around the tiny bar in her hand, and he drew away from her slightly. Hermione was focused almost solely on the delivery of her body’s demands by this point, her eyes squeezed shut, and she barely heard the words chanted by her younger wizard. She felt a hard tug at her right nipple and then the unmistakable pulse of magic in the air around her. The coil within her had reached its capacity for tension, and suddenly it released with fury. Her orgasm broke free and she fell through intermingled layers of magic, pleasure, and relief. It went on in waves, and she slumped in Lucius’ arms for a while. Eventually, just as last night, her wizards roused her so that she could close the ring. This time she knew how to do it, and slipped the jeweled cap into place without effort. Then, feeling distinctly under-dressed, she began to pull the white robes back up onto her shoulders. 

Draco put out a hand as if to stop her, imploring, “Please don’t cover up. Let me look at you for a while longer.” He pulled the fabric from her hands, sliding it back down the crook of her elbows. “Surely there’s no need for this.” Behind her Lucius made a sound of agreement.

The curly-haired witch was only able to meet his heavy-lidded gaze briefly before she dropped her eyes and breathed a self-conscious laugh. “That’s easy for you two to say – you’ve still got all your clothes on!” She shrank in on herself, as if to physically hide her naked state.

“If it will convince you to stay as you are,” her younger wizard all but tore his outer robes off, flinging them heedlessly behind him and yanking at his tie, “I’ll gladly take some of them off.” He wrestled with the slim piece of fabric until it was loose enough to fit over his head and then began ripping open his shirt, sending shirt studs flying everywhere.

As his chest came into view, Hermione’s attention was drawn from herself. The curve of a pectoral peeked at her, and she stepped toward Draco eagerly. “Let me help.” Less than a minute later he was bared to the waist and pressed flush against her. Something hard and familiar was jutting into her abdomen.  _ My poor wizards - why am I the only one who ever has any fun? _ She looked over her shoulder at Lucius, who was looking at her backside with a pleased expression and slowly removing his outer robes. 

Hermione paused, torn between wanting to go to him and wanting to stay where she was. With her front hidden from plain sight against Draco she felt much less vulnerable, and knew that the security would fade as soon as she stepped from him.  _ At least I had my knickers last night. _ She glanced around the small site for a moment, looking for something stretchy to Transfigure, and finally just tied the long sleeves of her robes around her waist. She turned toward her elder wizard.

Lucius seemed to understand her plight. The look in his eyes had softened to one of tenderness, and he smiled as he methodically popped the studs from his high-collared shirt. Hermione stepped to him and helped as she had with Draco, this time savoring the act of undressing one of her fiancés. When he finally stood before her bare-chested, she tugged him down for a sweet kiss, whispering afterward, “How long can we stay here?”

He pressed his lips to hers again and ran his hands along her back. “As long as we like.” Lucius was as aroused as Draco, and Hermione put her hand on his hard shaft over the soft wool of his trousers. He inhaled sharply. “Perhaps it’s time we had our dessert.” Her hand flexed at the suggestive comment, but he quickly removed it and managed to clarify between clenched teeth, “ _ Trifle _ .”

_ Oh, for Merlin’s sake!  _ There was the sound of Draco gathering spoons behind her, but she held Lucius’ gaze. “I  _ really _ don’t like that portrait.”

His eyes twinkled as he pulled her down to the couch. “Come, sit on my lap and feed me, and I’ll make you blush.”

He did, too, and Draco joined in the moment he sank down beside them with the trifle in his hands. It quickly became a game, wherein mouthfuls of the decadent dessert were given both as rewards for making her blush and as consequence for blushing. Hermione was spoon-fed a tremendous amount of the pudding in a very short period of time, as were her wizards. What started out as a means of diversion on Lucius’ part, however, backfired on the elder Malfoy, because none of them paid attention to the fact that it was soaked in brandy until it was too late.

The main result was a far, far less inhibited witch. Over the course of eating the trifle, she’d slowly moved from sitting on Lucius’ lap; to sprawling across both of them; to straddling Draco and pushing his head down to rest on Lucius’s thigh so that she could spoon-feed her elder wizard. They’d watched her in fascination with glazed eyes. She knelt over Draco’s stomach, leaning to bring a bite of brandy-soaked cake to Lucius’ mouth. It crumbled as it met his lips, dropping in pieces onto his chest and stomach. “Oops.” Draco’s hands moved up her sides as Hermione leaned lower and began cleaning up the mess with her lips and tongue. As her mouth met Lucius’ skin, Draco’s closed around her new rune, his tongue flicking back and forth against the jeweled ends of the ring. “Nnnngh. Don’t stop, Draco.”

Lucius shifted underneath her, disturbing Draco’s position. “I thought we agreed it isn’t nice to tease, pet.”

Draco made an irritated noise and growled, “Stop moving, Lu.” The words were slightly garbled, as his mouth was still attached. “So perfect, Hermione.” He untied the robes from around her waist, letting them fall with a soft, heavy sound to the floor.

She looked up at Lucius with eyes half-crossed in pleasure, licking cake from her lips. “Who’s teasing? I just want to clean you up, Lucius.” His stomach was begging to be touched, and she dropped a row of wet kisses down the trail of hair by his navel. “Mmmmm. I like the way you taste.” Her downward descent put more of her chest in contact with Draco’s mouth, and he groaned and squeezed her backside.

Lucius’ hand wound through her hair, gently pulling her head up. “I think it’s time to leave this place.”

Her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she sat up abruptly, interrupting Draco once again. “We haven’t finished with dessert yet, Lucius.” She reached to the floor beside the couch for the small trifle bowl and held it out to him expectantly. “Give me a mouthful of cream.” When his mouth dropped open slightly she added, “Please?”

Draco pulled her back down so that her dangling breasts were above his mouth once again. “Be good, little witch.” He latched onto the other this time, causing her to groan and buck against his stomach.

Lucius scooped up a spoonful of custard and cream, pushing it into her mouth with a dark look on his face. He set the spoon down out of her reach. “You’re playing with fire, pet.” His other hand still held her hair in a firm grip.

Meanwhile, Draco’s large hands curled over her backside, reaching between her legs to press and rub in a blissful rhythm. “Oh, Draaaaco.” 

She licked the excess from her lips and reciprocated as best she could, only without a spoon that meant dipping her fingers into the bowl and pushing them, jelly-covered, into Lucius’ mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes closed tight, and his other hand wove through her hair as well.

Between his grasp of her hair and Draco’s mouth latched to her breast, she was stuck in an odd position with her head nearly in Lucius’ lap and her bottom thrust into the air above Draco’s stomach. She turned her face and found herself looking directly at the enormous tent in her elder wizard’s trousers. She ran her nose along the length of his erection and twisted her neck to look up at him. “Is the fire here, Lucius? Do you need me to put it out?” Hermione kissed the hard, wool-covered shape once, and then brought one hand up to give it an experimental squeeze.

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and tugged on her hair. “Hermione, you must stop. I am not in complete possession of my faculties at the moment.”

Draco moved his hands around to the outside of her hips, trailing his fingers inward along her thighs until he reached her wet folds, pushing her legs as far apart as he could. He released her nipple, only to rumble against it, “You’re so wet, sweetheart.”

The young, somewhat intoxicated witch returned her attention to the issue at hand. She watched the elder Malfoy’s face as she stroked his shaft again, watching his jaw clench and his lips draw back in a silent snarl. “I don’t think I want to, Lucius.” Her fingers ran up and down the fly of his trousers several times and finally settled on the button. She slipped it from its hole, watching his face all the while, then dragged down the zipper slowly and stole a peek. Underneath his trousers Lucius was wearing silk boxers, which did nothing to hide the enormity of his erection. Captivated, Hermione tried to wrap her hand around it. She looked up at him again. “Mother of magic – this thing is gigantic—oh, that feels soooo good, Draco!”

Her young wizard had begun running one clever finger around her clitoris in a circling motion. She was vaguely aware that he was moving underneath her, sliding his head from Lucius’ thigh and kissing his way slowly down her stomach as she pulled down the soft fabric separating her from the object of her interest. As it was uncovered, Lucius finally reacted. He pulled her hair gently until she was forced to look up at him, and she saw that his expression was no longer tormented. He gazed down at her, his eyes burning with intensity, and then directed her attention to his rigid penis. “This is my cock, pet. Learn it well.”

Hermione spent the next few minutes studying this new body part as keenly as possible, considering that Draco’s worshipful mouth had by now worked its way to her hipbone. His fingers rubbed and swirled, and she moved against them unconsciously. He spoke into her skin. “Such a sweet, wet girl. My Hermione.”

She ran her fingers lightly along its length from the heavy testicles and dark blond curls at its base, up over the frenulum to the weeping tip. Lucius released one hand from her hair and placed it over hers, squeezing it gently. “I said no teasing.” His normally mellifluous voice was gruff. “Move like so. Run your thumb along here.” 

She obeyed his instruction and watched in enthrallment. “Does it matter that I can’t reach all the way ‘round it?”

Draco sucked and bit at the skin below her navel, as Lucius answered raggedly, “Mmmmph.” He gave a low groan. “It needs wet. Use your spit.” Hermione lowered her mouth and swiped her tongue where her thumb had been, gratified to hear the elder Malfoy lose another bit of control. “Fuck.”

Draco pulled at her hips, raising them slightly higher and forward until she felt his warm breath on the inner crease of her leg. “I need to taste you.”

As her younger wizard ran his tongue over her inner folds and began speaking against them, Hermione moaned loudly and Lucius thrust in her hand. He ordered gruffly, “Lick your lips and open your mouth.” When she complied willingly, he added, “Take me down, my lovely one.” 

Draco’s mouth connected with the nub of nerves he’d already teased swollen and throbbing just as Hermione lowered hers to Lucius’ member. She gasped as Lucius pushed the tip of his shaft between her parted lips, and he gave a feral growl.

Much of the detail of the following minutes was lost in a blur of hands and deep voices and the feel of that thick member in the cavity of her mouth. Lucius held her head, his trembling hands woven into her curls, but didn’t control her movement. She heard him crooning words of encouragement as she bobbed and licked and sucked inquisitively, learning to please him and enjoying the lesson. His breathing quickly became loud and uneven, and from his mouth streamed a quiet flow of profanity mixed with words of glowing praise. 

Four hands touched her reverently, two voices called out her name, and then there was pleasure – indescribable pleasure – when Draco sucked her clit into his mouth and Lucius reached under her to tug at one nipple. Hermione’s attention had been split enough that, for the first time, she hadn’t followed the build-up to her climax closely. The suddenness and force of this one took her by surprise, causing her to take Lucius’ cock deeper into her mouth and throat than she had to that point. Her body continued shuddering in ecstasy as he cried out, releasing into the back of her mouth. She swallowed reflexively and raised her lips from him with a wet, audible pop, attempting to process what had just transpired through the agreeable haze of alcohol hanging over her.

Draco rolled them over so that Hermione was now lying on her back, looking up to see Lucius wearing a very sated expression. Meanwhile Draco slid up her body slowly, lips and chin still wet with her arousal fluid, and fell heavily on top of her, sending her into a fit of giggles. “Oof.” Draco was unbelievably heavy! He was also still unbelievably aroused, judging by the hard shaft now aligned with her seam. “Draco, I can’t breathe.” He raised his chest slightly, and she used the opportunity to wrap her legs around his waist, fitting them even more closely together. He rutted against her roughly several times, eyes closed in concentration, and then groaned deeply in obvious release. She watched him closely for a moment, and then commented, “You’re blurry.”

Draco grinned and gave her a wicked kiss that tasted slightly odd. “You’re drunk, little witch. I’ve had a little too much alcohol, too.” 

She stared up at him curiously. “What in Circe’s name have you been eating?”

Above them, Lucius chuckled. “Up you go, Draco and clean yourself up. And  _ you _ , pet,” here he hoisted her up against him, “will help me get you dressed.”

She swayed as her body was raised to a vertical position, the room following her in a slightly delayed manner. “The room was just sideways,” she remarked, adding solemnly, “That often happens when I’m with a Malfoy wizard.” Beside her, the elder Malfoy drew up the zipper of his trousers, and this set Hermione off into another round of giggles. “Lucius, you might not be able to tell Louis that you kept your pants fastened, but Draco can!”

Draco laughed from somewhere behind her, while Lucius attempted to set her on her own feet. She slid down the front of him to her knees, her face grazing his groin. This set off a fresh round of giggles. He gave a deep chuckle and hoisted her up again. “I did not foresee the need for Sober-Up, unfortunately. When we leave the site, I’ll summon Trinket. Come, Draco. Let’s get our bride-to-be dressed and to her chaperone before she knocks her head on the floor or worse.”

She was a giggling, limp noodle in their arms and offered no help whatsoever. Eventually the two of them got her into her robes. Draco buttoned it up with a flick of his wand, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she flopped in Lucius’ arms. “I love trifle!” She practically sang. “And I love Trinket! Oh - and I love you, Lucius! And Draco! I love you as well!”

Hermione dozed off when Lucius swept her into his arms and only woke when some irritating person began shaking her shoulder relentlessly. She found herself still in Lucius’ arms, only now they were on the ground floor of the library, on one of the couches. Fleur was holding out a small dose cup of what could only be Sober-Up. The curly-headed witch wrinkled her nose but drank it up, feeling its effects begin almost immediately. After a few minutes she sighed and looked around, noting that Draco’s hair was standing on end and Lucius’ shirt was mis-buttoned. Fleur sat across from them on the opposite couch. The curly-haired witch murmured, “That was some trifle.”

Lucius gave a rich, full laugh. “Indeed. I can see why Draco was so adamant about keeping you from alcohol at school.”

She scowled at him. “As I recall, I wasn’t the one stuffing it down my throat.” Draco snickered, and she realized her gaffe. Despite her quickly sobering state, it struck her as terribly amusing, and she exclaimed through her own laughter, “Oh, that was a good one, wasn’t it!” 

Lucius nodded with a grin and planted a kiss on her nose. “As loathe as I am to part with you, pet, it’s time to say goodnight.” For some reason his words caused her stomach to flop nervously.  _ I’m getting married tomorrow. I’ll be entering a new society tomorrow.  _ She must have looked like she suddenly felt, because he wrapped his arms around her protectively. “My love, look at me.” She obeyed, to find him regarding her in that surprisingly tender way of his.  _ I wonder if anyone else in the world knows how gentle Lucius Malfoy can be. _ “Tomorrow is simply the continuation of what we have already begun. I will stand at your left, and Draco at your right, and the three of us will celebrate having found each other at last.” He kissed her chastely several times and added, “And we will finally ship both Molly and Miss Delacour away for a while.”

Hermione leaned against him, holding herself close with great big handfuls of his robes. She inhaled his scent and filled her lungs with it before nodding in answer. “Goodnight, Lucius. I love you.” 

He pressed a last kiss to the top of her head and breathed her words back to her. In a louder voice he said, “Now go find Draco, before he starts moping.” 

Draco had wandered a few feet away to the foot of the stairs and stood with his back to them. Hermione went to him, climbing onto the first step to even out their heights a bit. He put his hands on her waist and smiled. “This reminds me of saying goodnight to you at the base of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” She glanced around. “Except there’s no Ginny here to tell me how lucky I am to have such a romantic wizard.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to her. “I’m romantic?” 

“Very. It’s because you’re a  _ talker _ .” At his questioning look, she explained, “You’re very good with words.”  _ And your hands. And mouth . . . _ She shook her head briskly. “You know exactly what I mean!”

He smirked happily. “I plan to  _ talk _ to you for the rest of my life. Prepare for lots of romance, lucky witch.”

Hermione laughed softly. “Oh, Draco.” She brought her hands, which had been resting on his forearms, up to the back of his neck and looked up shyly. “I  _ am _ a lucky witch.”

Draco’s pleased expression morphed into one of reverence, and he leaned in further, speaking against the corner of her mouth. “I love you, Hermione.” He kissed her in an unreserved, unhurried way that made her toes curl, and when he pulled away they were both beaming. “Goodnight, little witch.”

Hermione grinned madly. “I love you, too. Goodnight.” Before she was tempted to return to his arms, she hopped off the step and made her way to Fleur, who was waiting patiently nearby.


	67. Friday Early Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha reader/Final beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday Early Morning

Hermione yawned and stretched between the silk sheets of her cozy bed. The slippery bedding made it difficult to remain in an upright position, but eventually she managed to sit up with her back propped against the pillows. Her dreams of the night before had been interlaced with the events of the second rune ceremony, and it took a few moments for her to separate fantasy from what had actually happened. When she succeeded in that, she blushed deeply and looked to make sure that her chaperone was still sleeping. 

Fleur snored away beside her, albeit silently thanks to another Silencio. Hermione’s brain replayed the last part of the rune ceremony once more.  _ Sweet Circe, we really . . . I really did that. _ The thought made her smirk self-consciously and then nibble on the side of a finger.  _ My corruption is proceeding nicely. _ The accompanying mental images were like an invigorating shower, and suddenly she was suffused with adrenaline.  _ Mother of Magic, I . . . _ As her heart began to race, an unexpected thrill passed through her and she grinned.  _ I got the best of Lucius, is what I did. And . . . errrrr . . . Draco got the best of me. Thank Merlin for brandied trifle! _

There was no use lying idly in bed - as it was, she’d slept far past the time she regularly woke up. A glance at the nearest timepiece showed it to be half-past seven already, and she was wide-awake and ready to begin the day. As was her wont she had insisted that the French windows be left open all night, and now the sound of early morning birdsong floated through the room. She cancelled the silencing charm on her loud friend and gave her a few brisk pats on the backside. “Rise and shine, Fleur! Daylight’s wasting!”

The Frenchwoman groaned and pulled the covers over her head. “It’s the middle of the night, you pest. Go back to sleep.”

Hermione stood her ground and smacked Fleur with a pillow. “Up! Up! Up! I need to talk with you about last night!”

The blonde witch sighed loudly and poked her head out of the covers. “Coffee.”

Hermione summoned Trinket, surprised at how easily the action came to her this morning. Trinket seemed to notice as well, judging by her pleased expression and energetic curtsy. “Good morning, Lady! What can Trinket do for you?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, may I please have-” She stopped short at the house elf’s disapproving frown and began again. “I would like a pot of strong coffee and whatever else you think might help wake Mademoiselle Delacour.”

Trinket nodded in a gratified manner. “With pleasure, Lady! Oh, Trinket will be so proud to call you Mistress!” The little creature clasped her hands ecstatically and disappeared with a  _ crack _ . 

Hermione sighed.  _ She’s definitely enjoying training me.  _ She flopped back on the bed beside her friend. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly under my employ you’re a lot of work at times.” Fleur didn’t bother to open her eyes, but she slapped blindly at Hermione, connecting with her thigh loudly. “Ouch! Oh, you’re going to get it now!” By the time Trinket reappeared, tray in hand, there was a rather one-sided pillow fight being fought. Understandably, Hermione was winning. On Fleur’s part there was mostly shielding and unhappy yelling going on as the younger witch attacked her with vigor. At the sound of the house elf’s Apparition, an unspoken cease-fire was issued. Then coffee was all but poured down the throat of the chaperone and eventually Hermione had the audience she needed - or so she thought.

“As I said before, I need to talk to you about last night.”

Fleur set down her cup, which was empty now for the third time, and waved a forefinger at the curly-haired witch. “Oh, no. I have an inkling what went on, and I have no desire at all to hear the details.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you want to hear it or not - I need to talk about it!” Hermione was serious.

So, it seemed, was Fleur. “Absolutely not. A rune ceremony is a private thing between a Bespoke Witch and her wizards! If you must talk about it, you’re going to have to find someone else. Like Molly.”

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me!” 

“Hermione, I’m not trying to be difficult. This is something you would normally talk about with your mother, or another House Wife. Hopefully I’ll have my own rune ceremony soon, and I don’t want to jinx it by worrying whether it will be as perfect as yours was. Talk to Molly.”

“Who said it was perfect?” she asked suspiciously.  _ I don’t remember saying anything to her about it last night. If I can recall that whole thing in such detail, then I couldn’t forget that. _

“Oh, please - that part was plastered all over the faces of the three of you when you exited the site. I’ve never seen more blissful people in my life. But you’re going to need to find someone else to talk with - like  _ Molly _ .”

_ We looked blissful? Well, that certainly fits with . . . I need to talk to Molly. Merlin’s left nut, I’m so desperate I want to talk to Molly! _ “Aaargh! Alright, fine.”

“Now leave me alone until she comes.” The beautiful Frenchwoman snuggled back down under the covers. 

“Oh, honestly! How can you possibly go back to sleep? You just drank an entire pot of coffee!” Hermione smacked her friend one last time with the pillow and then flopped back on the bed, wondering idly if either of her wizards were early risers. 

Eventually she wandered to the bathroom, where she turned on the shower. While she waited for the water to heat, she simultaneously brushed her teeth and read a few more pages of Yolande’s increasingly steamy diary, wishing for either a real book or some company. Her thoughts drifted to her lost Transfigurations book.  _ I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.  _ Steam finally spilled out from the spacious shower stall, and Hermione was just stripping off Draco’s Quidditch jersey when she thought she heard a loud knock on her bedroom door. She glanced through the open doors of the dressing room and shrugged.  _ It’s Molly, most likely. She’ll let herself in. _ She turned her attention back to the shower and stepped in.

Hermione had never been the sort of girl to waste large amounts of time in complex bathing rituals, preferring instead an efficient routine of rigorous hygiene that left every inch of her skin scrubbed clean within ten minutes. Then, thanks to Ginny, in her last year at Hogwarts she had developed a fondness for a once-a-week soak in an oil-infused bubble bath, often in the company of her redheaded friend. But since arriving at Malfoy Manor, Hermione had fallen in love with the idea of bathing - whether by tub or shower. There was an entire shelf in the bathroom cupboard devoted to marvelous shampoos and conditioners, rich-lathering soaps, bubble potions, and redolent body oils - sweet Merlin, the oils! - and she found herself loathe to exit the water without having tried at least half a dozen each time. Consequently, her morning shower no longer fit into her previous time allotment. 

As the hot water poured over her skin, her mind turned to the upcoming events of the day and her stomach began flip-flopping much as it had the night before. Last night Lucius had been there to calm her, but now she was alone with a brain that, unfortunately, was capable of efficiently rehashing every fear and insecurity within her. The result was a nerve-wracked witch whose wand-hand trembled so much that she was barely able to safely use a simple hair-removal charm on her legs. She’d chosen a set of soap, scrub, and oil that had been labeled ‘Calming’, but the soothing scent of amyris and rose had little effect other than coating her skin in a lovely fragrance. 

Suddenly Hermione was jarred out of her spiraling thoughts by the voice of Fleur. “Hermione, for the sake of all that’s magic  _ hurry up _ ! You aren’t the only witch who needs a shower sometime today!”

At the interruption, the vial of oil Hermione had been holding slipped from her hands to the shower floor and shattered, and the young witch slipped in the ensuing slick mess. “Oh, for Merlin’s- hang on! I’ve just stepped on a shard. Ouch!” It took a few moments for the mess to be cleaned up. Fleur helped by casting a Reparo on the broken vial as Hermione tended to her bleeding foot. She glanced at her chaperone as she reached for a thick robe and wrapped it around herself. “What’s got you in such a hurry?”

Fleur was certainly nothing like her usual collected self. She waved her hands wildly, shooing Hermione out of her way as she stripped out of her nightgown. “No time, no time!” And then, more to herself, she wailed, “This can only end badly!”

Hermione limped toward the dressing room, wondering what on earth had gotten into her friend, but quickly passed on into the outer room when she saw that Molly was indeed there. The motherly witch noticed her hurt foot at once. “Sit down and let me tend that!” She all but pushed her into the nearest chair and performed a healing charm. “What on earth happened, sweetheart?”

Hermione tried not to squirm as the familiar crawling sensation emanated from the healing wound. “Fleur just startled me, and I dropped a glass vial of oil in the shower. What’s going on with her?” Her own concerns were now forgotten.

The Weasley Wife looked both happy and upset. “The twins came here looking for the rest of the boys - they’d only say that they’d found another Bespoke Witch and want to cast stakes at once.” She grabbed hold of Hermione and held her, struggling, in a suffocating hug. “This is  _ unheard of _ !  _ Two  _ Bespoke Witches found in  _ less _ than  _ two days _ ! Oh, my dear girl, this could either go  _ very _ ,  _ very _ badly or  _ very, very _ well.” She seemed to realize she was holding the young witch against her will, and that there were other things at stake. “But this is  _ your _ day, sweetheart. Let’s get that beautiful hair dried properly and then have a nice breakfast. And no more careless accidents - that’s bad luck on your wedding day!”

Once Hermione could properly breathe again, she reacted immediately. “We can’t just go about  _ my _ special day when other  _ equally _ important things are happening! As soon as we’re both ready, we’ll  _ all _ go downstairs and see what’s happening.” She headed for the dressing room and sat at her table, immediately starting on her hair.

Molly followed on her heels, wringing her hands in an agitated way. “That’s just it, sweetheart - you can’t see your wizards until the reception. No,” she shook her head firmly, “We’ll have to do some juggling and it will be suspenseful, but tradition must be followed.”

Hermione was in the process of working Sleakeazy’s potion through her hair as her mother-figure said that last part. She whipped her head in Molly’s direction and argued, “Fleur will want to know what’s happening, and she can’t do that if I’m up here!” Molly shook her head again and opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione continued sharply, “Oh, no you don’t! I have gone along with _everything_ _everyone_ has told me for over two weeks - barring the initial acceptance of the scroll, because I did that all on my own - without blinking an eye! I have come round to the idea of courtship _and_ House marriages _and_ two wizards! I have resigned myself to having a chaperone and observing ridiculous rules! I’ve allowed my body to be marked pretty much as property by my future husbands _and_ agreed to wear jewelry that I’m _still_ convinced is deviant!” At this point she knew she was almost screeching, and she made herself take a deep breath before finishing, “I could go on, but in the interests of time let’s just skip to the part where _I_ say ‘to Hell’ with this particular tradition. As soon as Fleur is ready, _we’re_ going downstairs to find out exactly what’s going on. You’re welcome to join us.”

There was a long silence, during which Molly stood blinking back tears. Her hands had stopped their wringing motion and now were held out almost in supplication. Finally she said quietly, “Alright.”

Hermione wondered what the consequences were of breaking such a tradition, and what had prompted Molly to fold so relatively quickly to her argument.  _ I wonder if she was listening to her covenant. _ With a pang, Hermione reached out to her own family magic.  _ You’re awfully quiet lately - not that I’m complaining. The last thing I want is to be rendered unconscious again. Ever. _ The Malfoy covenant gave the emotional equivalent of a smirk, prompting Hermione’s mouth to curl into one of its own.  _ Just so we’re clear, this choice isn’t taboo, right?  _ The covenant purred contentedly along the edges of her awareness.  _ Excellent. I’m blaming my choice on you. _ She began wand-drying her curls and said aloud, “Logically speaking, when two important traditions collide, one has to take precedence. Since the Malfoy stake has already been accepted and can no longer be contested, it only makes sense that the Weasley stake - or stakes - be considered next.”

The sound of the water in the shower stopped, followed by the sound of Fleur stepping out. She came flying into the dressing room seconds later, clearly distraught, and paused uncertainly before them. Molly quickly pulled her into a tight hug and crooned, “There, there, my dear. Everything will be just fine. Get dressed and we’ll go down to see what’s going on.”

Fleur looked between the two other witches in confusion. “But that’s against-“

Hermione interrupted before that dreaded word could be used again. “Yes, well, we’ve sent that one to a very warm place. Now dry your hair and get ready, because you have two more wizards to meet!” 

After a very small hesitation, Fleur did as she was told, and Hermione allowed Molly to boss her through the rest of her beauty regimen.  _ If I close my eyes, it’s almost like having Ginny here. _ Less than fifteen minutes later, she stepped into a set of delicate undergarments and was fastened into a beautiful dress. Hermione turned back and forth several times, smiling with satisfaction at the way the lovely, rich maroon garment accentuated the curves of her slender figure. The deep V-neck bodice was made of delicate faille, cut so that wide ruffles rather than sleeves fluttered over her upper arms, and draped in the back to expose her shoulder blades. The crepe skirt was slim, with a fan to match the ruffles on her shoulders and a deep hem with tiny box pleats. “Oh, this is . . .”

Fleur came to stand behind her and smiled approvingly, although her nerves were evident. “Very nice, and very traditional for a reception.” She turned to Molly. “I suppose you have the correct shoes as well?”

Hermione took hold of her friend’s hand to offer her strength, asking the other two, “How is this traditional?” She eagerly latched on to yet another distraction that could keep her thoughts from what was soon to come.

The simple question was enough to take the other two witches’ minds off the most current situation. Molly said excitedly, “A reception outfit is always demure, and always meets the following criteria: fine fabric to show a glimpse of your rune, a flattering style to show a glimpse of your figure, a narrow skirt to prevent your wizards from trying to get under it before the wedding ceremony-“

Fleur finished with a small laugh, “And heels to prevent you from running away!” 

Molly Summoned a pair of dangerously high heels from the closet and waggled her eyebrows. Hermione eyed the shoes apprehensively. They were the prettiest, strappiest, most hazardous-looking shoes she’d ever seen in her life and she said as much to Molly. The Weasley Wife gave a loud, long-suffering sigh. “Oh, for Circe’s sake. Hermione, sweetheart, you’re a  _ witch _ . Surely you know that shoes can be charmed! You don’t think your wizards would give you shoes that could kill you, do you?” They slipped on as if they’d been made for her feet.  _ For all I know, they were _ . Fleur bent down to buckle the little straps, and Molly gave a satisfied nod. “One down, one to go. Fleur, you cannot possibly wear  _ that. _ ”

The Frenchwoman looked taken aback. “What would you have me wear, Molly?”

“Something pretty!” Molly protested. “Surely you don’t always wear these heavy gowns!”

Fleur raised an eloquent eyebrow. “Yes, and then I cover them with heavy robes. I also wear a veiled hat.”

Hermione turned from where she practiced walking in her heels, grateful that she had such trivial things to focus on in this moment. The shoes were indeed charmed in some way - no matter how she set down her feet, the shoe was always exactly under her foot. It seemed she’d be safe from twisted ankles and humiliating falls for this day, at least. “Molly, let her be. Fleur can wear whatever she likes.” She knew that this was her friend’s defense against the leers of wizards and sneers of witches alike.  _ And if I see anyone so much as twitch an eyebrow at her, I’ll hex him or her _ .

“This is the way I dress at all times in public, Molly. Don’t you remember how you felt when you first saw me?” Fleur gave the Weasley Wife a wistful, meaningful look. “Sometimes it helps a little.”

Molly must have realized her gaffe, because she backtracked immediately. “Of course. I’m terribly sorry, Fleur. Although I  _ do _ hope,” here she smiled hopefully, “that my beautiful daughter-to-be won’t have to hide when she’s a Wife.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t talk of these things quite yet.” Her voice trembled as she smoothed her hands down over her long, thick skirts. 

The moment of blissful distraction had passed, Hermione realized with a heavy sigh. She should have realized Molly was due for an embarrassing outburst, especially when an increasingly familiar look crept into the older witch’s eyes. “Oh, your shields - you forgot to put them on, sweetheart!”

Face burning, Hermione gritted her teeth. “Errrrr, thank you, Molly.” She went to her bedside table and drew out the little pouch, thinking murderous thoughts.  _ I love Molly - I’m sure I do - but right now I’d like to hex her. _ She made her way back to the dressing room, flinging up a hand in the universal sign for ‘stop!’ when the motherly witch tried to follow her. “That’s quite all right. I’m sure I can manage on my own.” She closed the door as much as she could without actually shutting it, then walked through to the bathroom and did the same to that door. When she stood alone before the large wall mirror hanging above the washbasin, she cast one furtive glance at the door and unzipped the back opening of her bodice with a flick of her wand.

Hermione wriggled the dress off her shoulders and stood bared to the waist, staring contemplatively at the little pouch she’d laid on the counter. It could have been filled with something explosive, for all the apprehension she now felt. She looked up in the mirror to see a positively panicked-looking young witch.  _ Get a hold of yourself, Hermione.  _ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she opened them again the witch looking back at her appeared slightly less desperate.  _ See what your wizards see when they look at you. _

Her brilliant mind supplied a fairly complete list of compliments and heated looks she’d received from Lucius and Draco, making her mouth curl in a tiny smile.  _ I’m their Bespoken one _ . She thought of Draco’s admission from the night before, and her smile grew.  _ At least one of them has fantasized about me for years. _ The witch in the mirror was smiling now, but Hermione didn’t notice because her attention was on her breasts and the glittering runes piercing her nipples. Her hands came up to cup the lush flesh, fingers brushing against the runes and sending a frisson of pleasure along her nerves.  _ Mother of magic, Draco was right - two runes really do look better than one! _ Hermione glanced down at the small pouch and back at her breasts.  _ He didn’t just give me these because of the tradition; he gave them to me because he’s imagined me wearing them for years - it’s his fantasy _ .

One hand reached for the pouch, emptying the two shields into her other hand. Tentatively, she brought one up to a rune, giving a startled jump when it clicked into place with a little  _ snick _ . She put on the other one quickly before she could change her mind and then looked bravely into the mirror. Her mouth dropped open the tiniest bit. The openwork filigree sunbursts surrounded her tight nipples, their rays spreading over her areolae and the surrounding skin in waving lines. Hermione looked back and forth between the reflection of her face and her shielded runes, watching a confident glow come over her. She turned back and forth, admiring the way the decorations drew attention to the feminine curves of her body. Somehow those two little disks - or perhaps the knowledge of what they’d do to Draco - empowered her.  _ Unbelievably hot _ . Even as the thought came to her mind, she knew she shared Draco’s opinion unequivocally.  _ I’ll be wearing these under my dress, and Draco will know I’m wearing them.  _ She wondered what Lucius’ opinion of them was, and then gave a smirk worthy of her elder wizard himself.  _ Well, he liked his handprint on my arse - chances are he’ll like these, too. _ She leaned forward, watching the light catch the tiny green stones of the shields and, peeking out from between the openwork filigree, the larger emeralds of her runes.  _ Who knew Hermione Granger could be so . . . hot! _ She bit her lip in amusement, because her first thought hadn’t actually been ‘hot’ at all, but ‘deviant’!  _ Maybe I like a little bit of deviant after all. _ Her brow wrinkled for a moment. _ Does that make me depraved? _

Molly’s voice wrenched her from her reverie, and she spun away from the mirror, pulling her dress back up into place. “Hermione, sweetheart, are you alright?”

“Errrrr, yes!”  _ You have no idea _ . “Be right there.” The idea that her attitude had taken a direct turn pleased her immensely. Had she put the shields on and felt uncomfortable, if she had worn them  _ only _ for Draco, the act would have been contrived. Instead, she’d had a moment of epiphany - albeit a very rushed, very  _ brief  _ epiphany - and knew that she wore them for  _ herself _ as well; that she  _ wanted _ to wear them. Hermione zipped up her dress quickly and noticed with satisfaction that the intricate pattern of the shields was somewhat visible through the delicate faille bodice. 

It was a very different Hermione who emerged from the dressing room. Her chin was high, her shoulders squared, and there was an amused gleam in her eye. “Well, come on then! What are we waiting for? We’ve got twin redheads to interrogate!” She turned to Fleur, who looked positively green. “Oh, don’t worry - we won’t hurt them.  _ Much _ .”

The curly-haired witch didn’t really want to Side Along, given Fleur’s emotional state at the moment - somehow being Splinched on her wedding day didn’t appeal to her - but hid her trepidation with the argument that walking would give Molly time to tell her more about the reception. Molly seemed to take the idea as some sort of challenge and began the moment they left the room. “Oh, yes - that’s a wonderful idea! Come along, girls. It took the boys and me  _ all week _ to finish layering all the charms around the formal garden. Why, did you know . . .” By the time the three witches passed through the gallery overlooking the ballroom, Hermione knew more than she needed about the planning and preparation leading up to this event. She tried to pay attention as her mother-figure talked on and on about stasis charms on ice sculptures, fairy lights, Glamours, and extra warding on the estate, but her attention faded in and out as other thoughts crossed her mind.

Walking rapidly and talking even faster was beginning to wear on Molly, who paused her monologue in an attempt to catch her breath. Hermione took the opportunity to say, “Ordinarily I’d be extremely curious about the china pattern being used at the refreshment tables, Molly, but what I really need to know is  _ what will happen _ . What’s the order of events? Is there a special protocol?”

The Weasley Wife waved the curly-haired witch’s concerns aside. “Oh, this is a simple  _ reception _ , sweetheart!” Nothing about it sounded simple, and Hermione said as much. Molly seemed to have caught her breath, because she urged them along again, saying, “With the amount of people expected today, the  _ only _ thing  _ you’ll _ be doing is meeting each and every guest. There’ll be plenty going on around you, but you don’t need to concern yourself with any of it.”

“Eight hours reserved just for meeting people? Surely there’ll be an awful lot of dead space . . .” Hermione trailed off at Molly’s adamant head shaking.

“This is the wedding of a lifetime, Hermione!” Fleur interjected. “The Malfoys are followed in the gossip and society pages of every wizarding newspaper.  _ Everyone _ will be here - especially because the news of your acceptance and courtship was leaked early! A Pure-blood courtship is always two weeks long, a full-moon wedding would be expected, which means that most of the wizarding world assumed today would be the day.” She looked at her charge in her superior way. “People have had  _ days _ to plan.”

Hermione was slightly confused, and she was also glad to see that their conversation was providing a necessary distraction for her chaperone. She pressed, “You keep talking as though anyone who wants can just show up - what about the guest list, and invitations?”

“This morning invitations went out to all the ancient Houses, but your acceptance was published in every wizarding newspaper the world over.” Molly explained. At Hermione’s blank look, she added, “In the wizarding world, a published acceptance listed with the time of the reception is the same as an invitation. Anyone who wants - and that will be everyone - may attend.” The enormity of the situation struck her brain like a lightning bolt, and she could only blink dumbly.  _ This is going to be a circus.  _ The motherly witch smiled and took her hand, patting it gently. “It’s just eight hours of smiling and meeting people.”

Hermione was silent for the rest of the trip across the Manor, learning that a series of Floos had been set up outside the gates of the estate in preparation of the crowds - in fact, Percy’s role in helping had been as a Ministry official, ensuring that magical travel procedure was followed. Guests from farther away would arrive by portkey in an adjacent spot, and once people passed through a security checkpoint, they'd be allowed to enter the grounds. Apparition would be possible only within the grounds, and guests would come and go at will. As they reached the bottom of the last staircase in their path to the great hall, Hermione abruptly stopped Molly’s forward progress by taking hold of her robes. Another lightning bolt of thought had struck her, and this one involved a tremendous amount of guilt. “Astoria’s reception - it’s today as well! Does this mean no one will go to hers?”  _ I missed her wedding shower, and now I’m sabotaging her special day on top of that.  _ In a much more frustrated tone she added, “That doesn’t even make sense, to have two receptions on the same- Oh, never mind.”  _ Fifty galleons says it has to do with tradition. _

Molly seemed to be much more aware of Hermione’s train of thoughts than the curly-haired witch had given her credit for, and she most certainly was in possession of more knowledge. “Now, sweetheart you cannot blame yourself for what happened yesterday morning. Astoria certainly doesn’t.”

“But how do you  _ know _ ? I only sent her a quick note, and I didn’t even have a gift to send!” She fussed, “She’s been far too kind to me for such a rude brush-off!”

“Rude brush-off?” Molly scoffed. “I know for a fact that Lucius and Theodore Sr. talked yesterday right before brunch, and not only did he explain the situation in depth, but he took full responsibility for your absence at the shower. Furthermore, it’s Lucius - he probably sent a gift in your name. Never doubt the thoroughness of a Slytherin! And sweetheart, don’t forget that Astoria didn’t send her invitation until yesterday morning!”

Hermione nodded reluctantly. “That’s true.” She dropped her death-grip of Molly’s sleeve and allowed herself to be towed along the corridor. They were just around the corner from the great hall, and the amount of noise reaching them signified a rather large group had already gathered there. “But will they have guests at their reception?”

Molly gave another meaningful waggle of her eyebrows as she dragged the curly-haired witch into the enormous room. “The Nott reception will be a much more  _ private _ party - strictly Pure-bloods and Ravenclaws - and they’d  _ prefer _ it that way. You don’t need to worry about them in the  _ least _ .” Then they were in the great hall, and for the second time that morning Hermione’s mouth gaped.

The room was filled with people - there were the Weasley men, Harry and his girls, a very large group of dark-robed witches and wizards who could only be Crabbes and Goyles, and, in the middle of the room with Lucius and Draco, a stern-looking blond wizard. As the three witches entered, every eye turned in their direction with surprise and all talking ceased. Her wizards, in particular, looked shocked to see her, although Lucius held out a hand toward her.

She went to him at once, crossing the room with her gaze locked in his and ignoring the silent stares of everyone else. His face was set in a mask of arrogant imperturbability as he bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to it, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he murmured, “Good morning, pet. To what do we owe this breach of tradition?”

Hermione blushed, but held his eye. Her voice was barely a whisper. “If it’s worth mentioning, the covenant is amused.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco watching intently.

Lucius gave an almost imperceptible nod and turned so that they were both facing the blond wizard. “Miss Hermione Granger, this is Monsieur Reynard Delacour.”

Monsieur Delacour bowed deeply. “Miss Granger, it is an honor.” His English was only slightly accented. As he stood, he gave a small smile that transformed his face completely. 

Hermione smiled back.  _ I’ll bet he’s just like his daughter - hard on the outside but soft on the inside. _ “It’s very nice to meet you, Monsieur.” She glanced back at Lucius before adding, “Fleur has been concerned for your well-being.” The words were barely out before she regretted them.  _ Sweet Circe, I’ve just reprimanded the man for not contacting his own daughter! _

Monsieur Delacour gave a loud bark of laughter. “Oh, Lucius, I like this witch!” To Hermione he said, “And it is plain to see you are concerned for my daughter’s well-being, in turn. It’s true, then - you two have become friends?”

“Very good friends, for the short amount of time we’ve had - and that’s why I’m here with her now.” She turned to include her own wizards in the conversation. “Molly told us what happened, and Fleur deserves to be part of this! I’m very sorry if I’ve offended  _ any _ of you, but it had to be done.”

Draco held out both arms in invitation, and Hermione walked the few feet between them to curl into his side. He said in his soft, husky way, “We were just discussing what a shite tradition it is, actually. No harm has been done at all.”

Reynard Delacour beckoned to Fleur, who was hovering at the far edge of the room with Molly, and she floated gracefully to him. He hugged her tightly, obviously used to navigating her hat and veil. “Good morning, daughter.”

Fleur drew back from her father’s embrace and gave him a dirty look. “Don’t you ‘good morning, daughter’  _ me _ , Papa! What’s kept you from replying to my letters? Why haven’t you given the Weasley stake precedence?!” Her voice, which was only loud enough for their small group to hear, held more emotion in it than Hermione had heard from her yet. She smoothed the lapels of her father’s robes and added gently, “How is Mama?”

Monsieur Delacour didn’t seem at all put out by his daughter’s attitude. In fact, he looked immensely amused. He also seemed to be very aware of his daughter’s halting English skills, because he answered in very slow English, “She is well and sends her love.” He paused and looked around the room before continuing, “You have created quite the stir, ma fleur. And these Weasley men with their shocking red hair - they are what you want?”

His daughter nodded eagerly. “Yes, Papa!  _ Please _ tell me if you are just teasing, or if there’s some real reason I cannot accept their stake.”

Draco had wrapped his arms around Hermione at some point during the conversation they both watched, and now his thumb traced the shape of one of her shields stealthily. She glanced up at him, but his innocent gaze was on Fleur and her father.  _ Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it _ , she reasoned _.  _ Just then he shifted, and a long hard, increasingly familiar shape pressed into her hipbone. _ Oh. _

Monsieur Delacour was speaking to Lucius, and she missed half of it in her momentary preoccupation. She caught the tail end, though. “ . . . only fair she should meet the other two brothers before I grant precedence.”

During the conversation and Hermione’s distraction, Fred and George seemed to materialize at Reynard’s side from thin air. Then the curly-haired witch’s eye lighted on the storage room in which Harry had given Ginny a pseudo-spanking less than twenty-four hours earlier - that must have been where the twins had come from! In fact, from the way the door moved furtively it seemed as though there was someone still in the small space watching the goings-on.

Fred and George bowed to Fleur, but their faces wore identical tense expressions. “Good morning, Mademoiselle Delacour, I’m-“

The second twin interrupted with, “George, and I’m-“

“Fred, he is,” finished the original speaker. They reached for her proffered hand simultaneously and said together, “We’re a two-for-one special.”

Fleur seemed only able to blink in confusion for a moment. “Good morning.”

Her translation skills hadn’t improved over the past two days, and Hermione was having a hard time watching her friend struggle to translate into English. She stepped from Draco’s side and murmured to Fleur, “I could cast an Interpretor, if you like.”

“Yes, please!” The charm was cast between all present quickly, and Fleur relaxed visibly. She turned to the twins, who began another of their ridiculously confusing conversations. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that the strained looks hadn’t quite left their faces, and that they each stole occasional glances toward the storage room. Her chaperone noticed, as well, and interrupted Fred’s (or was it George’s?) punch line in her direct way. “Is she in there?” When they traded glances and nodded uncomfortably, she asked no one in particular, “Is there a reason she hides like a coward?”

Reynard looked as though he were trying to suppress a smile. “She is waiting for permission to enter the room. If you have satisfied your curiosity with Fred and George, I will bring her to meet you at once. ”

Fleur gave her father a suspicious glance and turned her attention back to the twins, engaging them once again in dialogue as her father walked across the great hall. Meanwhile Hermione’s brain was whirring away.  _ Why was she hidden away in the first place? Why aren’t the twins thrilled to meet Fleur? How has Reynard Delacour come to be on a first-name basis with them, and why is he taking responsibility for his daughter’s competition? _ These thoughts raced around in her mind, despite the fact that Draco had drawn her back into his arms and had managed to sneak a hand back to one of her breasts. She pushed his hand away gently and gave it a reassuring squeeze, whispering to him, “What on earth is going on?”

Meanwhile, the twins were answering Fleur’s questions rather too politely, in Hermione’s opinion, in comparison to their usual relaxed, joking selves. The curly-haired witch watched their mannerisms attentively, hoping to figure out what exactly was going on. All at once Fleur’s eyes snapped to the two figures now approaching, and she stopped mid-sentence, plainly more confused than ever. When Monsieur Delacourt and the other Bespoke Witch drew nigh, the chaperone seemed unable to speak. Hermione’s attention shifted from her friend to this new person, and she found herself staring at a younger witch who, although heavily robed and veiled, was clearly blonde, blue-eyed, and devastatingly beautiful.  _ She looks almost exactly like . . . _ At that moment, Fleur’s tongue seemed to come unglued and she uttered one word. “Gabi?”

The newcomer punched a fist into the air and cried exuberantly, “Ha! Nous avons réussi sans anicroche!” She went at once to worm her way between Fred and George, who were now grinning mischievously at her and each other.

“That’s our girl-“

“Shock ‘em speechless and-“

“Then take credit loudly!”

_ Gabi! It’s Gabrielle Delacour! _ _ But where’s the Weasleys’ other Bespoke Witch? _ Fleur also seemed confused. “Gabi, what are you doing here? I thought for a moment . . .” She shook her head and then said to Fred and George, “You already seem to have met my younger sister, Gabrielle Delacour.”

The young French witch beamed up at the lanky Weasley twins, looping her arms through theirs, before turning to her older sister in pleased defiance. “Oh, no you don’t, Phlegm!  _ These two _ belong to  _ me _ .”


	68. Friday - Early Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha reader and Final Beta: Coquettekitten

Friday - Early Morning

Their small crowd, centered as it was in the center of the Great Hall, erupted in several different but equally quiet conversations. Fleur all but attacked Gabrielle and her father, pulling them slightly aside and whispering furiously, and Hermione did the same to the twins, her wizards flanking her possessively. “What in Merlin’s name is going on, you two?!”

Fred (or was it George? She’d never been able to tell them apart) shrugged. “She’s our-.”

“Little firecracker, and we’ll-“

“Not share her with any singleton, regardless of familial-.”

“Relation. Especially not Percy.” They exchanged knowing glances. “She’d chew him up and-“

“Spit him out, she would!”

The odd way in which Fred and George finished each other’s sentences had always left Hermione a bit dizzy. After a moment’s pause, she clarified, “She’s the other Weasley Bespoke Witch.”

One twin turned to the other with a mournful expression. “Our Hermione has finally cracked our code, Fred.”

“Pity it just-”

“Happened now, when she’s realized-”

“The only Weasleys she ever wanted-”

“Are off the market.” George swiveled his head toward the curly-haired witch and said pityingly, “You’ll just have to make do with these two snakes, love.”

Hermione snorted. “I’d have been sent to Azkaban for using an Unforgivable on at least one of you if we’d ended up together.” She gave a mock shudder, adding, “Within  _ hours _ of the beginning of our courtship.”

Fred clutched at his chest. “Hurtful words, princess!”

“Will you demand your brothers cast unanimously today?” Draco’s polite question cut through the playful banter. Hermione realized there was much she wanted to know without knowing exactly what questions to ask, and she gave her younger wizard’s hand a grateful squeeze.

George nodded. “We won’t let this one-”

“Slip by. She’s-”

“The One.” By the end of the short discourse, the twins had reverted back to the tense looks they’d worn when they first entered the room.

The very fact that they were more serious than she’d ever seen them before prompted her to blurt impulsively, “What are you waiting for? Go!”

Lucius chuckled quietly at her side. “Have you spoken with your brothers?”

The twins shook their heads, and began another confusing double-volley of information. “We’ve only just arrived. We met-”

“Reynard yesterday in Diagon Alley-”

“Purely by accident, and he had-”

“Our firecracker with him. He was on his way to the Burrow to grant precedence, but-”

“We recognized Gabi outside Fortescue’s-”

“And she insisted they stay in London.” 

“She’s a little tyrant, that one is!” Fred and George concluded together and grinned speculatively at each other again.

“Do you mean to say that Monsieur Delacour has accepted your stake for Fleur? That’s wonderful!” Hermione moved impulsively to hug the twins, but was firmly held back at the last minute by Lucius. She shot him a questioning look, but he was glaring at the two Weasley wizards with narrowed eyes. Just then her stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl. 

“Will you join us for breakfast, sweetheart?” Draco wore an attentive expression as he looked down at her. “We were just on our way to the morning room.” He turned to Lucius and added, “Unless plans have changed?”

Lucius was still staring down the twins, who looked moderately terrified. “They have. Trinket!” The house elf Apparated with her usual energetic crack, curtseying low before her master. In a kind but unyielding tone, he ordered, “Please note the increase in guests and serve breakfast in the morning room accordingly. The Lady will dine with us in my study immediately.”

Trinket bobbed her head energetically and a second later, a loud dinner bell sounded across the house. She turned away from the Malfoy group, announcing, “Breakfast awaits all guests of the Manor! Please follow closely!” 

The words brought the otherwise dead room to life. Luna skipped over toward the housekeeper, tugging Harry along behind her, and the Weasley family (short the twins) followed. Most of the Crabbes and Goyles went as well, with the exception of four formidable looking wizards who stayed at the other end of the room. 

Ginny, who was carrying a rather large package, made a beeline for Hermione. “Need to talk to you. Now!”

Hermione’s eye lit up with comprehension, and she all but dragged her friend away from the curious Malfoys. “How’d it go?”

Ginny’s lip curled with disdain. “As if you have to ask. They’re perfect, and I thought I could slip up to your room and finish them. Alright with you?”

“Absolutely! Gin, you’re the best witch ever and-”

“ _ I know, I know  _ \- you’d be a wreck without me,” the redhead finished with a smirk. “It shouldn’t take me long - where shall I bring them?”

Hermione made a snap executive decision and called for Bowly, noticing that Lucius was now talking with Fleur. The solemn house elf Apparated with a soft sound and looked around in concern. “Bowly serves the Lady with pride. Is something the matter?”

“Nothing at all, but Trinket is busy, and I didn’t know who else to ask for help.” She paused in a moment of self-doubt. “Did I interrupt something very important?”

Bowly’s ears rose expressively. “Nothing is more important than serving you, Lady. What is your need?”

“Would you please take Ginny to my rooms and give her any help she needs, and then when she’s done, bring her to me?” A stray thought crossed her mind.  _ I’m having breakfast with just Lucius and Draco. Which means she could walk in on so much more than just breakfast _ . She added quickly, “Errrrr, I actually just need what she’s working on. You could help her get to the morning room.”

Bowly nodded in his serious way. “Of course, Lady.” He turned to Ginny. “Are you ready, miss?” Ginny nodded, her face flushed with excitement, and Hermione just had time to give her friend a quick hug before she Disapparated with the house elf.

When Hermione returned to her wizards, she found them alone save for the remaining members of the guard families, with the Delacour family and Weasley twins walking together towards the promised breakfast. “Where are they going?”

“To breakfast, of course.” Lucius answered, as if the answer were obvious.

“Surely the stake is more important than eggs and toast,” argued Hermione in disbelief. “Shouldn’t they be on their way to the Ministry already?”

Draco laughed quietly. “He’s teasing, sweetheart. Come along, and I’m sure you can convince him to share the whole nefarious scheme along the way.” He held out a hand to her. Lucius was offering his arm as well, and she went to them.

She looked over to her shoulder to see Fleur disappearing out the far doors of the great hall. “Is it alright to be so far from my chaperone?”

Lucius leaned and murmured in her ear, “Would Mademoiselle Delacour allow something that might taint your virtue, pet? Would I?” At her acquiescent look, he added, “This is the day of our wedding, and her role is purely a formality. Still, I have surrounded us with witnesses.” He waved a hand around them as they walked.

The guards were just visible along the edge of her vision. She craned her neck and saw that she knew them all. “Oh, hello Vince - and Greg! And who’s back there farther? Is that . . . It is! It’s Gore and Vincent! Good morning!” This last part she called out to them all, and she received a good-natured reply from each. The guards flanked them, two ahead and two behind, and didn’t seem inclined to chat. Hermione turned her attention back to the promised explanation, and demanded, “Tell me what’s going on at once!”

“It would seem that Reynard received the first Weasley stake, liked the feel of its magic, and went to London at once to see what he could find out about the boys. His younger daughter saw it as an opportunity to spend two extra days in England before her sister’s wedding, and so insisted on accompanying him. They took a room at the Cauldron and went into Diagon Alley for ice cream at Mademoiselle Delacour’s behest, where they were found by Fred and George Weasley,” Lucius supplied calmly.

“And so Monsieur Delacour simply  _ forgot _ to send word to Fleur that he’d granted the stake precedence?!” Hermione felt righteous anger on behalf of her chaperone! 

Her two wizards chuckled and Lucius continued, “He doesn’t claim to have forgotten at all, and a day and a half is nothing, pet - Albus made us stew for six months.” He looked down at her with a meaningful smile. “Allow Reynard his mischief - I’m sure those two girls give him more than his share of grief.” Over her head he added to Draco, “I cannot understand how fathers become such slaves to the whims of their daughters.”

Draco shook his head in agreement, and the young witch watched their exchange in amusement. She’d bet  _ handfuls _ of Galleons that these two wizards would be putty in the hands of a little platinum-haired girl! An unbidden image sprang to mind of Lucius feeding the peacocks with such a child, holding her in his arms and speaking gently. Hermione shook her head to clear the thought; it had been so strong, and had had such emotion attached to it that she decided to file it away for later analysis. Children weren’t something she necessarily wanted right away, but now she had two husbands and a huge home to fill with love and laughter, and the idea was a very pleasant one.  _ I told Draco we’d conceive the sun, moon, and stars together. Our children will be so beautiful . . . _ Her next thought was aimed directly at the covenant.  _ And don’t you dare try to manipulate me into becoming a baby machine! Let it happen when it’s supposed to. _ At the covenant’s burst of almost uncontrolled amusement, she added a comprehending  _ Oh. Right. _

The idea of her eldest husband-to-be with a child lingered in the back of her mind the entire short walk to Lucius’ study, so much so that she missed part of the conversation going on right above her head. When they reached their destination, Lucius was saying, “ . . . Two o’clock in my rose garden. We’ll activate the Floo in here just for them.”

“Just for whom?” Hermione asked curiously, pausing just inside the study. She noticed that Vincent and Vince took up positions at either side of the outer doorway, and Gore and Gregory filed through the study and out into the rose garden, standing with their backs to the French windows. They seemed to know to avoid the golden Captor roses.

Draco smirked down at her. “Astoria wants to see you today, and her wizards are bringing her here for a quick visit at two o’clock. We’ll receive them in here.”

The thought of seeing her new friend was pleasing, but one detail rankled in her brain. “Why in here? Won’t we be out in the formal gardens all day?” They approached a small table that had been set up near the hearth and laden with food.

Lucius choked on a full, loud laugh. He simply said, “Trust us, my prize; it’s best that way.”

She turned to Draco, who was blushing deeply. “Does this have to do with the fact that a Ravenclaw has married into the House of Notties?”

He made a strangled sound, but answered, “It has everything to do with that. Knowing Theo and Nick the way I do, nothing would surprise me.”

Hermione’s imagination supplied several possible scenarios, all of which involved the sorts of toys she’d received for her wedding.  _ Great and gracious Merlin, she’s going to come all decked out in Circe-knows-what! No wonder we’ll receive them in here! _ “OH.”

Lucius took her chin in his hand, guiding her to look at him. “Remember: there is nothing wrong in any act of mutual pleasure, pet. However,” here he stooped to press a sensual, closed-mouthed kiss to her mouth, “I refuse to share what is  _ mine  _ with anyone in any way. And I will not have the wizarding world thinking otherwise.” 

The burning look on Draco’s face confirmed he shared the sentiment, but he followed up with a light, innocent brush of his hand against hers that sent a sweet thrill up her spine. Hermione stood beside the breakfast table, dazed by that simple touch, when she felt each of her hands being taken by a different Malfoy and tugged in opposite directions. Each wizard looked down at her first with an expectant look, and then at each other with a frown. The tugging started and stopped again.  _ Merciful Merlin, they’re going to tear me in two pieces. _ Lucius and Draco were obviously in the middle of a silent conversation, and Hermione saw where this was headed.

“Absolutely  _ not _ ! You are  _ not _ fighting over me like some . . . like some  _ toy _ . I’m my own person, for Circe’s sake, and at this particular moment I choose not to sit on  _ anyone’s _ lap.” She directed a warning look in each of their directions. “Now you two  _ sit _ and  _ behave _ .”

Draco looked as gravely confused as he had at the Slytherin party, when she’d first scolded him, but Lucius was merely amused. He lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Pull your claws in and come curl up on my lap like the good little kitten you are.”

Hermione was slightly incensed, and her shrill tone reflected it. “ _ Claws _ are only  _ part _ of my arsenal - this  _ kitten _ fought in a war!” 

The elder Malfoy’s drawl was as silky as ever, but a cautionary edge had crept into it. “And spent time in my dungeons for her efforts. Would the kitten like to see what other kinds of trouble she could find?”

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco raise a hand to his face and pinch the bridge of his nose. She drew herself up to her full height, which was still considerably less than either of her wizards. Tilting her chin so she could look him in the eye, she opened her mouth to snap an impulsive reply . . . and thought better of it. Had either Malfoy wizard yet spoken to her in a disrespectful manner? Was she not a member of this dignified family? And how had he gotten taller all of a sudden? And even more imposing! And slightly terrifying . . .  _ I am a Malfoy, and as such I will choose my words wisely.  _ Her eyes, which had been narrowed in anger, relaxed back to their natural shape, although her hands remained on her hips.  _ But I am certainly entitled to stand my ground. _

Lucius seemed to interpret this as Hermione giving him his way. He sat and extended a hand to her, waiting. Draco was still standing motionless on her other side, face half-covered by his hand. Drawing a deep, calming breath, she replied, “No, I understand that there’s some basis of tradition for you to feed me, and you obviously enjoy me sitting on your lap. For this meal, however, we’re going to all sit in our own seats and feed ourselves. That’s final.”

The two wizards must have realized she wasn’t backing down. Draco drew her chair for her and pushed her to the table, and Lucius leaned to place her napkin on her lap.

“We weren’t fighting over you.” Draco offered her a serving basket of scones and pastries, and his expression was a mixture of caution and confusion.

“That’s a bit hard to believe, Draco. For a moment I thought I was going to be pulled in two.”

“He’s correct. We were merely deciding who would hold you and who would feed you. In the future we will plan ahead.” Lucius still looked amused with her, and perhaps a bit pleased as well. 

_ He likes it when I stand up to him.  _ A comment of his from yesterday morning came to mind, and she blushed deeply.  _ It makes a certain part of him stand to attention. _ _ And he still plans on winning. _ She tried to maintain the upper hand, if indeed she had it. “In the future, I’d like it if you were to ask me whether I’d like to sit on your lap or in my own seat. Pass the pumpkin juice? Thank you.”

Lucius was twinkling at her as if he knew the reason for her blush. “You look enchanting this morning, pet. Try this.”  _ He has got to be the most arrogant wizard I have ever . . .  _ Her brain drew up short and quickly corrected the thought.  _ No, he isn’t arrogant - he admits when he’s wrong, and doesn’t think he’s smarter than me. He’s just supremely confident.  _ Hermione tried to resist him for the span of one second, but part of what drew her to him was the very thing she found so maddening! He was offering her a fork laden with some heavenly-smelling substance, and finally she opened for it.

“Oh, Luuuuuucius. Mmmmmmmm,” she moaned around the mouthful of smoked trout and scrambled egg. “So  _ gooood _ .” When her mouth was no longer full, she looked over the table for the dish. “Where is that? I’d like some of my own, if you please.”

It happened to be sitting on the far side of Lucius’ plate, and he grinned darkly. “You’re welcome to come share it with me, pet.”

Really, he was incorrigible – and also quite possibly one of the two most irritating, most magnificent wizards she’d ever met. She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Oh, honestly!” She pushed her chair out from the table and stood, dropping her napkin to her chair. “The only reason I’m doing this is because I want those eggs. And  _ you _ ,” here Hermione looked over at Draco, “Had better find something equally wonderful for me to eat, because I’ll be over to bother you shortly.” Her younger wizard grinned and began looking over the table studiously while she went into the open arms of his brother.

Hermione sank onto Lucius’ lap and immediately stole a lungful of his scent. From her nook, she mumbled against his neck, “For the record, you didn’t win.”

His laugh was loud and happy-sounding and then he said quietly in her ear, “Do you think so poorly of me, pet? I merely wanted to hold you.” His arms had closed around her tenderly, and he kissed an imaginary line down her neck and fabric-covered shoulder. “Although, you sound the slightest bit defensive. Perhaps that is because your position is marginally less secure than mine, hmmmm?”

She laughed softly and lifted her head to press her mouth to his. “Maybe.” Lucius’ arms relaxed their hold, and she took the opportunity to casually lean away, pick up the serving bowl of eggs and trout, and slip back to her own chair. She smirked at him as she spooned a portion onto her own plate. “Maybe not.”

The elder Malfoy laughed again, and Hermione decided that every day should begin with that sound. He looked boyishly happy as he leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Draco, what in Merlin’s name shall we do with this witch?”

Draco looked up from the scone he was neatly devouring, eyes devoid of all guile as he looked between the other two. He turned abruptly toward the door behind him as if he’d heard a sound, and when Hermione turned her attention that way he sprang from his chair and pounced on her. She gave a shriek and dropped her knife and fork loudly on her plate. “Draco! What are you- Aaaaaagh!” Her words dissolved into wild giggles as strong fingers dug gently into her sides. As he tickled her, he picked her up and returned to his own chair, caging her with his long arms. “D-d-d-d-raaaaaco! S-s-s-t-o-o-o-o-p!” She managed to wheeze out eventually, but he only redoubled his efforts, moving his torture to the sensitive area around her collarbone.

“Oh, I’m sorry little witch – did you say you ‘top’? Did you want to be tickled up here?” He chuckled darkly as he continued. “You’ll find I’m nothing if not thorough in my endeavors.” She was reduced to silent shaking by the time he stopped. When she had recovered enough to sit up and breathe somewhat normally, Draco grinned down at her victoriously and replied to Lucius’ original question, “I say we keep her.”

Hermione tried to free herself from the arms wrapped around her as Lucius argued, “She’s a troublesome little minx. Always trying to get away from us.”

“I am not!” She quickly amended that statement. “Not  _ all _ the time.”

“If only we could show her what she means to us, perhaps she might decide to stay,” Draco offered in a considering tone. His hair was mussed up from their brief struggle, and the curly-haired witch thought it was a very good look for him.

She regarded him suspiciously. It was becoming painfully obvious to her that her younger wizard was far more calculating than he first appeared, and that he had an uncanny ability to sneak past all her defenses when he wanted to get his own way. “What does that mean?”

Draco turned the full power of his ocean-colored eyes on her. This morning they were the silvery shade of white-capped waves at night, and she quickly found herself lost in their current. He leaned closer, leaning his nose against her temple. “We could give a gift to show our esteem for our beautiful bride.”

_ Oh, no you don’t! _ Hermione recognized the momentary flash of cunning in his gaze just as his beautiful words fell on her ears, and she warned, “Draco, if this is an attempt to give me more deviant body jewelry . . .”

He pulled back and gave her a blank look. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t try that innocent act with me, Mr. Malfoy you know exactly what I’m talking about!” Her hand went automatically to her chest, drawing his attention there, and she saw comprehension dawn in his eyes. Draco’s expression would have been cocky except for the drool in the corner of his mouth. She pushed a finger under his chin, effectively shutting his mouth. “Exactly.”

He swallowed. His hand came up to push hers away, and he traced a finger over the outline of her shield. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to let me see them,” he breathed. While he was speaking, he had slid his other hand up her back and was now playing with the zipper of her whisper-thin bodice. 

Hermione smiled and wriggled out of his embrace. “Firstly, you’re lucky to be seeing  _ any _ of me this morning as it is. Secondly, do you ever think of anything other than getting me out of my clothes?” She kept her voice at the same intimate pitch he’d used, and their words were breathed against each other’s skin like the promise of kisses.

Draco gave a self-conscious smirk and blushed. “Not really. I hope that doesn’t send you running and screaming for the door, Miss Granger.”

She ran her fingers through his soft hair, smoothing it back into place. “Not at all, but I don’t intend to strip down for you just yet.”  _ Keep looking at me like that and I might change my mind. _

There was a small sound behind them, and their bubble was broken. Lucius was accepting a letter from a Tawny Owl, offering it a large bite of trout. He looked over at them with a grin. “Don’t let me interrupt.” He opened the letter and began reading.

The moment had passed, however, and Hermione returned to her own seat after stealing a rasher of bacon from Draco’s plate. “Would you please pass-” Her sentence trailed off when Lucius suddenly sat up straight and reduced the letter to a pile of ash with a silent yet violently-cast Incendio. “What is it, Lucius?”

The elder Malfoy looked positively murderous. His hands, which rested on the edge of the table, curled into white-knuckled fists. “It would seem that St. Mungo’s is missing two patients this morning.”

_ No, no, no!  _ A mental image of a pustule ridden Ron, leering at her and holding her prisoner in the school dungeon came to mind. “Are you saying that Pansy and-” 

Draco cut her off hastily. “ _ He _ ’ll be found quickly - he has a permanent locator. Do you think they’ll stay together, though?” His fine brow was furrowed, and Hermione leaned over and smoothed it with her thumb. Lucius’ only answer was to excuse himself from the table and cross to a large portrait at the side of the hearth. He swung it forward to expose a safe in the wall, which he opened. Meanwhile Draco was standing and drawing her up as well, pulling her protectively into his arms.

Hermione struggled against his tight hold, arms pinned to her sides. “Oof! Draco, not so tight! You said yourself just now - they’ll be caught in no time at all.” 

“Do you have any idea what kind of security nightmare this is?” He looked down at her somberly. “We’ve opened the grounds to hordes of people, and anyone can get in between noon and sunset.”

She glanced between her two wizards. “I assume the Ministry has been notified?”

“Yes,” Lucius answered in a preoccupied tone from where he stood. “Supposedly, the incident was officially reported an hour ago. Ours was merely a copy, sent as a courtesy.” He glanced up and added in a scathing tone, “Lead Healer Flambolt seems finally to understand the precarious nature of his position.”

She finally worked her arms up and wrapped them around Draco’s neck. “It’s not necessarily a nightmare; between you two and Molly, every eventuality was planned for. For the sake of all that’s magic - you had Percy Weasley himself set up the security system! Worst case scenario: they try to enter the checkpoint outside the estate and get caught there.” She tried to smile encouragingly, but barely managed a wavering twist of her lips. Her vivid memories were enough to send shivers of unease down her spine, but she recognized the emotion as her own rather than that of the family magic. “Let’s decide what to do together, and then not worry about things we can’t change. Our covenant is more than capable of taking care of us.”  _ Well, I’ve certainly come full circle in a few short days _ . The thought enabled her to smile a bit more steadily. 

Draco didn’t look reassured in the slightest, and his arms tightened around her again. “I can’t lose you, Hermione. I’ve only just got you.” The last part was whispered against the top of her head.

Lucius had returned to their side. “No one is going to lose anybody. However, our gift now seems more appropriate than ever.” He was holding a velvet jewelry case in one hand and clapping Draco’s shoulder with the other. “Pull yourself together, Draco, and let our witch breathe.”

Draco loosened his death grip on Hermione with obvious reluctance. She looked between her two wizards curiously. “Is this the gift you were talking about? What does it have to do with Pansy and R- errrrr,  _ him _ ?”

Lucius opened the box, revealing what could only be described as a lattice of small, perfect stars. He lifted the necklace from its nest and held it toward her, letting it drape across his large palm. It looked even more delicate there and Hermione reached a finger to touch it, feeling an equally delicate pulse of magic emanate from it. “Oh.” She looked up into his eyes. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Draco’s long forefinger came up to move alongside her own over the rows of brilliant-cut diamonds for a moment. Then he kissed her cheek tenderly and left the study through the French windows, leaving her alone with Lucius.

Hermione hadn’t looked away from her elder wizard, but now he broke their gaze and looked down at the object in his hand. “I commissioned this piece on the day Albus granted our stake precedence, and it was finished just in time for today.” He took hold of her hand where it still hovered over the short necklace and, raising it to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Happy wedding day, my prize.” 

Lucius was looking at her expectantly and she realized she’d been staring at him dumbly. Blushing, she smiled and picked up the lovely thing. “Will you help me put it on?” She offered it back to him.

“It would be my pleasure, but be warned; once fastened, it will never be removed.” He made no move to take it from her, but stood patiently while she processed his words.

Hermione withdrew her proffered hand and frowned in thought, a semantic question coming to mind. “Do you mean ‘will’ or ‘can’ - is it charmed?

”I mean that I will seal it round your neck and it will stay there forever, under a Goblin enchantment. Tonight when you become our Wife, I will add this to it.” From the jewelry box he took a small, platinum pendant set with more diamonds, and Hermione immediately recognized it as the Malfoy crest.

She marveled at its exquisite detail even as she smirked. “You’re doing it again.”

“What is it I am doing, pet?” Lucius looked down at her with twinkling eyes.

“Peeing all over me.” At his look of faux shock and denial, she continued, “Making a public claim! Marking me! You know exactly what I mean, you snake!”

He grinned playfully. “I will continue to do so for the rest of my life, as will Draco. If we are yours, Hermione, then you are doubly ours. Do you intend to refuse my gift on these grounds?” 

“No, of course not - how could I refuse such a thoughtful present! Oh!” She’d walked right into that - curse her Gryffindor tendencies! 

Lucius wore an exultant expression but he said kindly, “It’s yours to do with as you like, although I hope you will choose to wear it.”

“It  _ is  _ gorgeous.” She began handing the necklace to him again, pausing with her fingers wrapped around it to clarify, “It will  _ never _ come off? Can  _ you _ lift the enchantment?”

He shrugged and gave her a puzzled look. “Why should it ever leave your throat? For my part, I want nothing more than to see it on you at all times - as you sleep and bathe, and go about in the world. I had it made with your pretty little neck in mind, and have imagined you wearing it since then.”

“Wearing it all the time could be uncomfortable.” She scrutinized the intricate metalwork, wondering what it would be like to always have something round her neck.  _ Like a dog collar, almost. Actually, exactly like a dog collar - it’ll even have an ‘I belong to’ tag. _ It certainly didn’t  _ look _ like one, though. The diamonds glittered up at her hopefully, and their magic danced along the skin of her palm temptingly.  _ Lucius had this made just for me. He might be one of the two most possessive wizards I know, but he loves me and won’t force it on me _ . Even after he’d admitted this was another way of marking her as his own, he was giving her the choice. Her heart clenched with a fierce pang of her own possessiveness.  _ Mine _ .

Lucius slipped the crest-shaped pendant back into the box and set that on the breakfast table. “It’s been charmed for comfort. I daresay you’ll soon forget that you’re even wearing it.”

“It sounds like you thought of everything.”  _ He loves me and wants everyone to know that.  _ She pushed it back into his hand before she could change her mind. “I’ll gladly wear it for the rest of my life.”

Lucius’ face lit up like a young boy’s on Christmas morning. He motioned for her to turn around as he took the necklace from her and called over his shoulder, “Draco!” They both watched the younger Malfoy look up from where he stood conversing with the two Goyles. “In here.” And when he entered the study and was approaching them, Lucius added, “You should be here for this. Conjure a mirror, will you?”

Hermione bit back a nervous smile as the enchanted diamond necklace, warmed by Lucius’ hand, tickled over the skin of her collarbones. She felt it snug around her throat for a split second, and then any sensation of wearing it disappeared. Her hand flew up to make certain it was indeed there. Sure enough, she felt the rows of precious stones under her fingertips. “Lucius, what was it you meant about this gift being more appropriate than ever now? What does it have to do with Pansy and . . .  _ him _ ?” Draco drew near holding a small hand mirror, his eyes glued to what the elder Malfoy was doing. He offered it to her blindly.

The point of Lucius’ finger pressed gently against the back of her neck, and she realized he was sealing the enchantment. After a moment’s pause, he responded, “Our bespoken one has a talent for getting herself into trouble. Now she will be easily found at all times.”

“What?” 

At Hermione’s confused tone, Lucius chuckled. He ran his fingers around her throat, following the lines of the necklace. “Do you like it?”

The curly-haired witch looked at her reflection and forgot to ask Lucius for clarification. The breathtaking choker sat low on her neck, glittering against her creamy skin, and she could picture the pendant hanging in the hollow of her throat. Lucius was right - whatever enchantments had been placed on it kept her from being aware of its presence. Through the mirror, Hermione watched her husband-to-be’s thumb trace back and forth over the diamonds and felt the heat of his body against her back. Rub, rub, rub. A pleasant ache sprang up deep in her gut at the familiar motion. “I love it.” She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, her heels bringing her a bit closer to his imposing height. “Thank you.”

He ran his hands lightly down her back and leaned down to press his mouth to hers chastely. Hermione wanted more than that. She sucked and licked at his bottom lip until she felt his lips curve into a smile and his hands slide down further, curving over her backside. “Don’t play with fire, pet.” He pulled her against him so that she could feel his body’s response to her attentions.

Draco had been standing quietly beside her while Lucius sealed the clasp of the choker, and Hermione gripped the front of his robes, drawing him in for a kiss. He was far less inhibited in his response than Lucius, and pushed his tongue between her lips immediately. When they broke apart for air, she turned back to her elder wizard, sliding a hand down between them to wrap around his hardening erection. “Don’t worry, I know what to do, Lucius.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Shall I put out your fire?”

Lucius closed his eyes and inhaled sharply before he stepped away from her. “Draco, what in Merlin’s name shall we do with this witch?” His tone was amused, but his normally silky voice was slightly roughened.

The younger Malfoy chuckled as he took advantage of Lucius’ retreat and pulled the young witch into his own arms. He looked down at her with quickly darkening eyes. “I can think of hundreds of things I’d like to do to her.”

Hermione tugged him down for a sweet, lingering kiss and, when her brain finally cleared afterward, pushed him gently away. She said reluctantly, “We should finish breakfast. I have a feeling we’ll need our strength today.” Her wizards followed her example, and soon the three of them were seated at the small table once more. Between bites, her fingers continually touched the strands of diamonds around her neck, and eventually she remembered that Lucius hadn’t actually answered her question. “You still haven’t explained. How is this gift especially appropriate now, and how will I be easily found?” 

It was Draco who actually replied. “The necklace is charmed to act as a locator. Lucius and I will always know where you are now.” The look of beaming satisfaction was wiped off his face almost immediately by her small shriek of outrage.

“What?!”  _ Well that would have been nice to know before I agreed to wear it! _ “You can’t just . . . I don’t even . . . This is . . .” She huffed, glaring at each wizard in turn before viciously stabbing her fork into an unsuspecting pile of eggs and trout. “You two are preposterous.”  _ And it’s permanent. And Lucius made sure I was given a clear choice in the matter. I’m an idiot. _

The elder Malfoy was watching her like a hawk, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Do you have plans to lead a double life, or keep your whereabouts unknown to your husbands, pet?”

She followed that line of thought down several paths, finally deciding that she’d probably never have a valid motive to hide from either Lucius or Draco. “Of course not! Still, you’re both impossible! You purposely didn’t tell me that until you sealed the enchantment!”

“Does it matter to you that much that we’ll be able to find you?” Draco looked mystified at her mild outrage. “Its purpose is to help keep you safe.”

The Malfoy men took the traits of Slytherin house to an entire new level, in her opinion.  _ They’re cunning, resourceful, and ambitious, but they’ve added integrity and love to the mix!  _ It was confusing enough to make her head ache. When at last she answered, her tone was softer and resigned. “No, not at all - but I still would have liked to know beforehand. You didn’t even  _ hint _ at the gift’s real purpose.”

Lucius raised one elegant eyebrow. “I specifically told you yesterday morning that you’d wear a locator, pet. Had you forgotten so quickly?”

The conversation surrounding her spanking flooded her mind, and her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. You did, didn’t you?” She nibbled on her bottom lip musingly.  _ Interesting that the only other person I know with such a thing is the wizard formerly known as Ron Weasley. _ _ Although his probably isn’t nearly as pretty as mine. I wonder how many other . . . _

He interrupted her train of thought, leaning toward her and continuing softly, “Furthermore, Draco explained the  _ real _ purpose of this gift earlier - to show esteem for our bride.” Hermione melted a little bit at his words, but he wasn’t done. “I would have everyone know the value I place on my Bespoken one, Hermione - including  _ her _ .”

_ My silence yesterday was interpreted as acquiescence.  _ “I can see I’m going to have to start keeping track of every conversation with the both of you,” she remarked dryly. Draco seemed to sense her reluctant amusement, because he visibly relaxed and began eating. “Did you really expect me to pay close attention to  _ anything _ you said in here yesterday morning?” Her lips curled into a smirk as a particularly vivid mental image came to mind.

He looked downright entertained at that point. “In honesty, my prize, I first spoke of a locator before we left Hogwarts Tuesday evening.” His eyes dropped to her necklace and gleamed in a possessive, pleased way. 

Comprehension dawned, and for a moment all she could do was blink. Finally she managed to say, “Mother of magic . . . This is my collar and bell.”

Lucius gave a wolfish grin. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he patted his thigh and crooned in the soft, encouraging voice one would use to lure a cat.

Hermione snorted pumpkin juice through her nose at this, and, when she had recovered shot a warning look his way. “I just remembered I have some things to do before the reception.” He laughed happily again, and she relented slightly. “Stop calling me a cat, and I might stay.” 

His eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched slightly. “Admit that you enjoy my teasing, kitten, and I might reward you with a mouthful of cream.”

Hermione’s body reacted immediately to his double entendre as she remembered her own use of it just the night before, and her mind tried to fight the sudden swirls of brain-addling lust as she searched for a comeback of equal wit. Draco, however, chose that moment to bring them to heel conversationally. He said in his grave way, “As much as it pains me to say it, we have more pressing things to discuss. Lu, the guard families need to know. And we need a  _ plan _ .””

All humor slowly drained from Lucius’ handsome face at Draco’s words, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “I know what you’re thinking, and I won’t agree to it.”

The younger Malfoy wizard’s handsome features hardened into a stern expression. “We must maintain an accurate perspective of priorities.”

“Would you  _ please _ stop talking in your own secret language and include me?” Hermione demanded. They both turned to look at her warily, and she continued, “I’m not going to sit quietly and then go along with whatever you two decide without me.”

Lucius pursed his lips for a moment and finally said in a reluctant way, “Draco would like to cancel the reception and forgo the full-moon ceremony in favor of being wedded immediately. I oppose this vehemently. We have won you, followed the rules of the courtship to the letter, and you have taken our rune. Today the world will celebrate with us. We will not turn from what has been set in motion.”

Draco gave a disapproving growl, countering, “Regardless of what we both want, I’m  _ right _ . There are two idiots on the loose, one of whom is probably mentally compromised and most certainly infectious. The other isn’t any better - Pansy’s obsessed with the idea of being the Malfoy House Wife, and sees you as her biggest obstacle. We could lock this place down tight until they’re caught, and there’d be no risk to you or the public.”

The idea of another VMV outbreak was sobering, and Hermione nodded thoughtfully as she pondered his words. Lucius must have interpreted this as her agreeing with Draco, because he argued, “They’ll be caught long before the reception. The locator would have responded instantaneously to its charm.”

Hermione’s brain had begun whirring at high speed at the start of the conversation, and now her mental gears spun with enough internal noise to drown out any external distractions. There was the distant hum of male voices, but otherwise she was alone with her greatest asset - her intelligence. Just a minute later, though, her concentration was broken by a rather loud, startling sound. As she jumped from her chair, her wand flew up defensively, and she looked about for the cause of the noise. She found her two wizards looking at her with concern, and realized that Lucius must have slammed his hand down on the breakfast table. “Sorry.” 

Draco and Lucius stood politely, obviously waiting for her to sit down once more, but Hermione ignored the courtesy and continued to stand, trying to gather her previous thoughts. “I was just thinking . . . Are locators common for House Wives?”

Draco made a frustrated sound. “Hermione, we can talk about that later. At the moment-“

“No, no - hear me out! I need to know how common these devices are.”

“Many Pure-blood Houses use them for the protection of their Wives. They have been traditional for centuries,” answered Lucius cautiously.

She nodded absentmindedly and chewed on a finger for a moment. “Because if  _ I _ were going to sneak into a highly fortified estate during a large public event in the company of someone wearing a locator, and I knew  _ that _ piece of information, I’d use it to my advantage.” Comprehension was dawning in Draco’s eyes, and Lucius cursed quietly. She concluded, “ _ I’d _ plan to be as close to  _ another locator _ as possible. And  _ I’d _ sneak in  _ long before _ the event started. In fact,  _ I’d  _ already be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart is so heavy, dear friends. Our eldest-born, the one I've always called Glitter Jr. in fanfic notes, learned last night one of his three friends in this entire world ended his life last Monday. We both celebrate Alex's life and mourn his passing, and we pray earnestly for others who feel without hope. Please know you are not alone, and if you need an ally, I'm here for anyone and everyone. bespokewife.com 
> 
> Life is a gift, but sometimes it's the most difficult one to unwrap and appreciate because this is truly an awful world. You aren't alone.
> 
> -G-


	69. Friday Morning

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha reader/Final beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday Morning

Hermione’s conclusion filled her with a gripping sense of urgency as well as irritation.  _ Sweet Circe on a broom, it’s my wedding day - as if that’s not enough of a hint for those two to give up!  _ “They probably slipped in when the Weasleys all came, or later, when the Delacours and Fred and George arrived. Meanwhile, we’ve been . . . we’ve been  _ breakfasting _ ! The guards-” There was the distinctive  _ crack _ of Apparition and Bowly was suddenly standing beside them, wringing his hands anxiously. The way he was looking at Hermione caused her stop mid sentence. A _ nd I’m not going to be giving my wedding present to Lucius and Draco any time soon, apparently.’ _

The house elf looked between the three of them, his ears flattened against his head, and cried, “Masters and Lady, bad magic has breached these walls!” At Hermione’s sharp intake of breath he continued quickly, “There is wandfight in the Lady’s suite.”

“Ginny!” Impulsively, Hermione lifted her wand and began the turn to Apparate when she was stopped by a pair of large, strong hands.

Lucius was frowning down at her as he pocketed her wand and pinned her to his broad chest. “Absolutely not.” She opened her mouth to argue as she struggled against his grip, but Lucius had turned his attention to summoning the nearby Crabbes and Goyles and addressed them as soon as they gathered near the breakfast table. “Pansy Parkinson and the weeded sixthborn of the House of Weasley have entered the estate somehow without setting off the wards and have recently been in the Lady’s rooms. Miss Ginevra Weasley is also there and may require assistance.” He slowly released his tight hold on her, although one hand was still closed firmly around her upper arm. “Organize your families immediately, but four of you will stay with our witch.” He glanced down at her with narrowed eyes. “She will undoubtedly insist on joining the hunt.”

Hermione watched with distracted admiration as Lucius cast his Patronus, calling, “Kingsley, they are here and have already attacked someone.” The silvery fox leapt from the tip of his wand and bounded out through the French windows. Meanwhile the two senior guards fired off Patronuses of their own, and within seconds the sounds of Apparition filled the room like exploding popcorn. For the briefest time it was crowded with dark-robed figures, but then Gore and Vincent began barking orders and there were immediate  _ cracks _ of Disapparition as groups of guards left to their assigned positions. Lucius all but picked up and carried a resistant Hermione across the room and out to the rose garden. Draco followed closely behind. When they had passed through the French windows, the elder Malfoy relaxed his hold and hissed in her ear, “Promise me you will  _ listen _ and  _ obey _ .”

An image of Ginny being attacked by Pansy assaulted her imagination. She pulled back slightly and looked up between her two wizards, a retort ready to fly from her lips. The look of frustrated concern on both of their faces, however, stopped her in her tracks. “I promise to  _ listen _ .”

A vein near Lucius’ temple pulsed visibly, and the muscles of his jaw flexed. “This is our wedding day, Hermione. I do not wish to fight with you, but I will not lose you to senseless obstinacy or impulsivity. If you must participate, you will do so on  _ my _ terms.” When she hesitated to answer, he ground out, “Either you will do so, or you will commit yourself to the enchantment of the Captor roses for the duration of the hunt. Your guards will remain with you regardless of your choice.”

_ I just want to get to Ginny. If I tried to Accio my wand he’d be able to grab it before it got to me, and even if he didn’t that scenario couldn’t end well for me. _ Hermione glanced at Draco to find a forbidding expression on his handsome face.  _ And he’s not going to side with me _ . A look back at Lucius showed that he was awaiting her reply with barely veiled impatience. Another thought of Ginny, possibly lying helpless far across the manor, came to mind. She blurted, “Anything - just please let me go to Ginny!”

The two Malfoys exchanged a quick look over her head. Draco answered, “You’ll stay with your guards and one of us at all times. No wandfight unless unavoidable. No Apparating by yourself, and no approaching anyone on your own.”

“Yes, I promise! Let’s just go!” She grabbed their hands and tried tugging them back toward the study.

They both resisted, communicating silently again for a few seconds. Lucius growled, “Someone must oversee the search from here. As much as it pains me to say this, it should be me.” He paused momentarily, and Draco drifted a few feet away. Then Lucius said in a very different voice, “Tell me there is a gift or promise I could give that would entice you to stay with me, my lovely one.”

Hermione looked up in surprise at his gentle, pleading tone to find him regarding her with an expression to match. There were tight lines around Lucius’ eyes and mouth.  _ He’s afraid. The mighty Lucius Malfoy is offering to beg.  _ She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I promise to obey your terms.” Then she stretched up on tiptoes, pressed a soft kiss to his chin, and pushed against his chest. “Now go and oversee us all.”

She watched him close his eyes and swallow. When he looked at her again, any trace of tenderness was gone and in its place was his usual mask of smug arrogance. “You will stay within an arms’ length of Draco at all times, or I will put you over my knee -  _ and there will be no pleasure in it for you _ .”

The threatening tone in which that last part was delivered sent a frisson of desire along Hermione’s spine that stemmed from both intimidation and desire.  _ Merciful Merlin, but he’s delicious when he’s aggressive. I like being threatened. I’m beyond deviant . . . _ She threw her arms around his neck and dragged him down for a brief but searing kiss. When their mouths broke apart, she managed to whisper, “That was the hottest thing you’ve said to me yet.”

Lucius’ mouth twitched. “I shall have to work on my seduction technique. In the meantime, pet,” here he kissed her lips chastely, “try to resist your attraction to danger and come back to me quickly.” He gave her backside a swat that made her yelp.

Hermione turned to leave, relieved that Lucius had regained some semblance of the control he needed. Her younger wizard was looking at her expectantly as he held out a hand toward her. “Come along, little witch.” He threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her along with him into the manor.

As they passed through the French windows into Lucius’s study, several things caught Hermione’s attention at the same time. The first was the fact that, with the exception of the senior and junior Goyles and Crabbes, the room was empty of guards. The second was a puff of Floo soot from the large hearth, followed by the emergence of a team of Aurors. The third was the nearest timepiece. With shock, she realized less than five minutes had passed since Bowly had first confirmed the break-in. Despite the new arrivals, Draco didn’t pause at all; in fact, he merely nodded to the newcomers and continued out into the corridor. There he stopped, wrapped an arm around her and, as soon as their guards had caught up to them, simply said, “The corridor outside her rooms.”

The familiar sickening spin of Side Along didn’t last nearly as long this time. Within seconds, Hermione was recovered fully and aware that there was no noise coming from her suite. She reached for the handles of her suite doors. Draco jerked her back against him almost brusquely, causing her to squawk, but he silenced her with a hand over her mouth.

“Stand away from the doors, Lady,” Vincent Crabbe Sr. murmured. When she complied, he blasted them open unceremoniously with a wave of his wand. Unfortunately, whoever was within the room had been expecting them, and targeted the wall in front of them with a powerful Confringo.

The force of the explosion sent the six of them hurtling into the far wall of the corridor, although Hermione flew backward into something comparatively soft, considering the stone construction of the manor. The guards showed an immediate display of impressive reflexes, quickly casting an Impedimenta to arrest the forward propulsion of debris and then a Repello to send some back as a modified weapon. They’d also cast a Salvio Hexia around her immediate area, its soft shimmer highlighted by the dust-filled air. Hexes were being fired back and forth now.

The soft something under Hermione groaned, and she realized that she was lying on top of Draco. He groaned again quietly. Her rapid ensuing movement proved too much for the delicate engagement gown she still wore; several distinct rips could be heard as she clambered from her wizard, and her first thought was relief that she suddenly had much more freedom of movement. A hurried check of his limp body found a large lump on the back of his head, and her hand came away from it wet with blood. “Draco!” She whispered frantically. “Draco, wake up!” She gently patted his cheek, sighing with relief when his eyelids fluttered open. “How badly are you hurt?”

The blonde wizard grimaced and sat up slowly. “I need Greg.” He touched the back of his head gingerly and looked at her with a confused expression before attempting to get to his feet. “Where is Greg?”

Hermione couldn’t decide if she was worried or affronted.  _ What’s Greg Goyle got to do with this? _ When she was able to easily pull Draco back down by her side, she settled on being worried. “Draco, the guards have us under protection for the moment and you obviously need medical attention. Stay here and I’ll-”

His long fingers closed around her wrist like a vise. Draco’s normally pale skin took on a slightly greenish tinge as he interrupted, “Get Greg  _ now _ ,” and slumped against her shoulder.

Now pinned under his dead weight, Hermione realized how heavy Draco really was. She struggled against him for a moment and then decided that calling for help would be necessary, especially since her wand was trapped under both of them. Looking around, she saw the most recent object of her fiancé’s desire crawling toward them stealthily. With the last breath of air in her lungs, she wheezed, “Greeeg.” Greg Goyle hoisted the Malfoy wizard easily, much to Hermione’s relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. He’s bumped his head and asked for you before he passed out.”

The dark-haired wizard nodded in an unsurprised way and took a small box from a pocket of his robes. He set it down, aimed his wand at it, and muttered, “Engorgio.” Seconds later, he opened what looked to be a Mediwizard kit. He spoke to Hermione as he pulled two small bottles from the box and carefully administered their contents to the unconscious wizard. “He hit his head during the match on Saturday and got a nasty concussion. Didn’t want to miss his date with you in Hogsmeade so he didn’t tell Madam Pomfrey. I’ve been treating him for headache and inflammation since, although what he really needs is a good week of sleep and quiet.”

Despite Greg’s quiet, unworried tone (or perhaps because of it), Hermione saw red. She hissed, “Do you mean to tell me that he’s been injured for . . . for  _ seven days _ and has been allowing a  _ school friend _ to treat him? And that no one’s bothered to tell me?” A hex hit the wall above them, sending a shower of dust over their heads, and they both leaned over Draco protectively. Hermione realized he still held her wrist tightly, despite his unconscious state.

“I’m a certified Mediwizard, Miss Granger, and studying to be a Healer under my father. I spend my summers at St. Mungo’s. Believe me, if I thought Draco needed more expert care, I’d have insisted.” Greg glanced up at her with a solemn smile. “Quidditch is a rough sport, as you well know. He’s tough.” Then he waved his wand neatly over Draco’s head and murmured, “Rennervate.”

For the second time in five minutes, Draco opened his eyes. “Ugh.” He looked at Greg first. “My head?” At his friend’s nod, he turned to Hermione. “I’ll be fine after an Invigoration Draught.” He looked around. “Where are the others?”

“You’ll be  _ fine _ ?! After an  _ Invigoration Draught?! Where are the others?! _ ” Hermione’s voice wound tighter and higher, getting progressively louder. “What on earth is wrong with you - you, you . . . you  _ moron _ !”

Another hex rebounded off their warded area. Draco took the small vial proffered by Greg and downed its contents, all the while keeping his eyes - which were rapidly gaining their usual focus and gleam - on Hermione as she ranted. When she opened her mouth to continue, he leaned down and stole a quick kiss. Then, having silenced her temporarily, he gave her a smug smirk and stood, hauling her to her feet by the wrist he still held in his grip. “I wondered how long it would be before you started coming up with affectionate nicknames for me, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here.”

The moment Greg had shrunk his kit back to pocket size, a somewhat distracted Hermione found herself being dragged over rubble away from her suite of rooms. She dug in her heels the moment her brain cleared. “Not if Ginny’s in there.” Draco looked down at her, and at the slightest visible crack in his resolve she begged unashamedly, “Please, Draco!”

Her husband-to-be waffled for a moment, but finally turned to Greg with a questioning look. The dark-haired wizard replied, “From what I could tell, there was only one of them in there. The rest of the guard entered just before I got to you.” Hermione took advantage of Draco’s hesitation to pull him back the way they’d just come. The three of them paused at the blasted edge of the wall, listening for any noise within the room. There were heavy footsteps and low voices, but nothing else, and Greg mouthed, “Wait.” He peeked around quickly and then his shoulders relaxed. “All clear.”

Hermione squeezed Draco’s hand tightly and stepped around the corner. There she saw the two Crabbe wizards standing guard as Gore tended to Ginny, who was lying on the carpeted floor. As she tried to enter the room, though, she met an invisible ward that thwarted her attempts. The younger Malfoy wizard tightened his hand over hers as he explained solemnly, “I can’t enter these rooms, Hermione - I took an oath. That means you can’t enter them either, because I’m not letting go of you.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s missing an entire section of wall - it’s not even a bedroom anymore, really,” she reasoned.

Draco was having none of it, although he sweetened his reply with a soft kiss to her temple. “You agreed to this, sweetheart.” He called to the guards, “Is she alright?”

Ginny responded to his question herself with a groggy, “I’m fine - just got hit with a good Stunner.” She sat up with help from the elder Goyle wizard. “It looks as though my wand has been taken. And you aren’t going to believe what I have to tell you.”

After walking out to stand with her friend in the corridor the redhead proceeded to tell her story - of how Bowly had brought her to the room and left to gather a few supplies for her. Ginny had buckled down to work (at the mention of her project, she looked at Hermione meaningfully and then at the desk on the far side of the room), stopping when she heard a noise from the dressing room. She’d gone to the door, thinking her mother had popped back up to get something for Hermione, only to find Pansy Parkinson digging through one of the closets while wearing a wedding gown. A drawn-out wandfight had ensued, during which Ginny’s attention had been divided between Pansy and trying to protect what she’d been working on. She’d caught the Stunner, but only after getting in a Stinging Hex of her own. “I have no idea how long ago that was, though,” she concluded remorsefully and added only to Hermione, “And I don’t know if the project was saved. If she saw it . . .”

Vincent Crabbe Sr. quickly sent a Patronus to Lucius with the information, and Hermione hugged her friend. “I’m just so glad you’re alright. Bowly heard you two fighting and reported it immediately - and that was about ten minutes ago, by my calculation. As for what you were working on,” here she glanced longingly toward the desk Ginny had indicated, “I’d go and look, but  _ somebody _ won’t let me out of arm’s reach.” She sent a pointed glare toward her oblivious fiancé, who was absorbed in conversation with the Crabbe wizards.

Ginny smirked. “The Bossiest Witch of her Age finally met her match, huh?” She leaned to whisper in Hermione’s ear, “Nice collar, by the way,  _ pet _ . I’ll bet you just love curling up in your wizards’ laps and having your tummy rubbed.”

“It’s not a-” Hermione blushed and bit back a smile, rolling her eyes at the same time. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“If it were me, I’d just lay back and purr,” her friend’s smirk stretched to a full-blown grin, and she turned back to the room. “As long as we’re waiting for orders, I’m just going to go see about the  _ you-know-whats _ .” She was intercepted by Gore Goyle, who shook his head firmly and sent Greg in her place. The two witches exchanged mortified glances, and then Ginny quickly told him what was needed. The dark blush suffusing Greg’s face when he brought the stack of framed pictures back to them - wrapped in Hermione’s silk dressing gown - caused Ginny to snort uncontrollably and Hermione to turn a similar shade of red. She glared at her friend, performed a Shrinking Charm on the large bundle, and shoved it into Ginny’s hands in a none-too-gentle- way. The redhead tucked it into a pocket and continued snickering for far longer than was necessary.

Finally, the spectral fox of Lucius’ Patronus appeared, ordering them to search for the intruders on the rest of that floor, warding off rooms as they went. Vincent Sr. took point and led them further down the hallway while his son warded the already searched suite. The Goyles began the same process on the rooms along the other side of the hall. Ginny, who was wandless, was relegated to the rear of the group. Hermione had been trying to pretend Draco wasn’t still holding onto her as though she were a small child in a busy store. She finally turned to him and said grudgingly, “How’s your head?”

They paused in the corridor, momentarily forgetting what was going on around them as they gazed at each other. The blond wizard treated her to an almost-smile, and the curly-haired witch almost forgot she was irritated with him. “Never better.” He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. “I know you don’t like this, but I’m not sorry for wanting you safe.”

She remembered how, even unconscious, he had protected her from injury not so many minutes ago, and what Greg had said about Draco forgoing medical attention so as not to miss their date _.  _ Hermione’s heart and mind were divided, but only for a moment. She wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a proprietary way and sighed at the pleasant weight. “You are, you know.”

She could hear the happiness in his voice. “Am what?”

“You know what I mean.” Hermione found herself smiling now.

Draco made a thoughtful sound. “I  _ do _ know that I’m handsome and clever. Is that what you mean – or were you referring to the fact that I’m also intellectually gifted and athl- oof!” He looked down at her with a trademark smirk. “That’s quite a left jab you have, Miss Granger.”

Hermione tried to pretend her fist wasn’t smarting a bit after punching it into her husband-to-be’s rock-hard side. “You’re a  _ moron _ , Mr. Malfoy.” At his delighted chuckle she persisted, “No, really, Draco! How could you have possibly thought it was a good idea to chug down a few potions and say  _ nothing _ about the fact that you’d bruised your brain last Saturday?”

“If you’re so worried about my health, perhaps you’d better stop attacking my internal organs.” He stroked the fingers of the hand she held around her shoulders against her necklace.

She shivered at the warmth of his touch. “And you took me on your  _ broom _ !”

They had stopped any forward progress several sentences and touches ago, and now Draco drew Hermione into his arms. He leaned down to her level and murmured against the corner of her mouth, “That’s right - how could I forget? Miss Hermione Granger rode my Firebolt last Saturday.”  _ Kiss _ . “Although technically, Hermione,” here his eyes darkened several shades.  _ Kiss _ . “I didn’t  _ take _ you on my broom.”  _ Kiss _ . “Would you like that? To be  _ taken _ high in the air, on a broom?”

The double entendre, delivered as it was against her mouth and in a dark tone, sent a thrill zinging along every nerve in her body. It also sent a deep flush to her face. She whispered his name in a pleading tone, not quite sure what it was she wanted.

Suddenly there was the unmistakable sound of a hex hitting its mark in the room just ahead and to their right. There was a deep cry and a crash, and Vincent Sr. stumbled from the room, clutching at his shoulder. Streams of blood coursed down his robes and pooled on the floor at his feet, and he stumbled to his knees before falling to the floor. “Park- . . .” His son never batted an eye, but motioned to Gore and charged into the room. Noises of wandfight ensued, the crashes of hexes intermingling with the voices of the combatants.

By the time Hermione and Draco made it to his side, Greg Goyle was already there, staunching the flow of blood and administering healing potions with Ginny’s help. He looked up at them. “He needs to be Apparated to the study  _ now _ .”

Draco seemed torn for a second, giving Hermione an almost pleading glance, but Ginny interrupted in her matter of fact manner. She picked up Vincent’s dropped wand and said, “I’ll go. Get out of the way.” She wrapped an arm around the unconscious wizard. “Be back in a sec.” Then she was gone with a quiet  _ crack _ .

Greg began packing up his kit quickly. “Move out of the middle of the hall, Draco. You’re an easy target.”

Draco practically sneered at the observation and growled, “Yes, well, I’m not the one she wants to get rid of, am I!” It must have occurred to him that Pansy’s real target was also in a vulnerable position, because he looked down at her with a frown. “Come on, little witch.”

They moved as one along the nearest wall, both clutching their wands. Draco had grabbed her hand at some point and he was almost crushing it in an iron grip. When she couldn’t bear it any more, she pulled against his hold and whispered, “Too tight!”

He glanced down in confusion and immediately loosened his grasp. “Forgive me, sweetheart,” he breathed. “I . . . I don’t like wandfights. They remind me of the . . .”

His hesitance was heartbreaking in its honesty, especially when Hermione’s brain quickly filled in the word  _ war _ .  _ He’s sweating, and his pulse is racing.  _ “I don’t really want to be here, either, Draco.” And it was true - she didn’t. She’d far rather be doing pretty much anything else in the world other than waiting to hex or be hexed. The idea of Ron and Pansy terrorizing her new family, though - it made her blood boil and her resolve harden.  _ I will hunt them down and hurt them for what they’ve done _ .  _ As soon as I figure out how to get Draco to let go of my hand. _

There was an explosive boom, and another, much smaller, segment of wall was sent hurling into the corridor just in front of them. They both jumped back and Draco stepped in front of Hermione just as Pansy Parkinson herself jumped through the new opening. She caught only a glance of Pansy, but it was enough to see that she was indeed wearing a wedding gown, and that she looked delighted to see Draco. Pansy planted herself strategically against the far wall, with a clear view of both directions.

“Draco!” She cooed. “Look - it fits perfectly! It’s a sign, darling!”

Hermione peeked between Draco’s wand arm and side just as he raised his wand and choked, “How could you - that’s Hermione’s dress! Get it off now!”

Pansy had her wand aimed directly at Draco, but she was smiling flirtatiously. “Take it off? You bad boy - we aren’t even betrothed yet! I would, though, Draco,” she crooned, “for you.”

_ What on earth is he waiting for?! Just hex her!  _ Hermione made the slightest of sideways movements, and Draco promptly stepped back and pinned her foot under his. Other than that, he didn’t acknowledge her presence. Instead, he said to Pansy, “I’ve been looking for you. Where’s your boyfriend?”

Her coquettish manner morphed to rage instantly, complete with bared teeth and a white knuckled grip on her wand. “Don’t call him that - he is  _ nothing _ more than a means to the end of your Mudblood! Where is  _ she _ , Draco? Where’s the Mudblood whore you’ve been dallying with recently?”

“She’s with Lucius. Tell me where the weeded one is, and then you and I can discuss your grievances.”  _ She can’t see me - Draco’s hiding me behind his robes. And he’s trying to find out where Ron is. Oh, my clever snake! _ Hermione kept her eye to the tiny space between Draco’s arm and side, all the while fingering her wand nervously.  _ I need to keep my mouth shut. _

Pansy laughed. “ _ ’Discuss my grievances’ _ ? Oh, my darling, other than your little whore I have none - and I plan to do away with her as soon as possible. I came to you today to find that my dress was ready and waiting in my room, and that you’ve been looking for me! Everything is perfect!”

“Not  _ everything _ , Pans. There’s still the wizard you brought with you. I can’t have him ruining today. Tell me where he is, please.” Draco’s tone was lacking in feeling, but Pansy didn’t seem to notice in the least.

“Oh, alright,” she conceded with a happy smile, “but only because you’re right - he  _ would _ ruin everything.” She sighed and admitted, “Ron’s on the main floor now that he’s armed. He’s to stay there until we find the Mudblood.”

“That’s an awfully big area. Any place in particular?” Draco asked casually.

At that moment, unfortunately, Ginny reappeared directly behind them with a loud _crack_ and set into motion a series of unfortunate events. Time seemed to slow, noise faded, and the sudden action around Hermione was reduced to almost sluggish movement. Draco shifted to see who had Apparated, exposing Hermione to Pansy’s view; Pansy shrieked and hurled a hex their way; Draco shoved Hermione violently away from the shot of white light coming from Pansy’s wand; and Hermione heard her own voice cry out Protego even as her wand hand performed the appropriate movement. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the remaining guards come running, no doubt responding to the sound of Pansy’s noise. Her shield flew up, repelling the hex back onto Pansy, who screamed as her own Anteoculatia hit her with all its original force. Hermione saw the stone floor of the corridor rapidly approaching her face as the guards surrounded the now antlered intruder and took her wand.

Then the strange feeling passed with a rushing noise, as time sped to its appropriate pace and sound returned, and the flooring of the manor loomed before her face.  _ I’m falling again. Why am I always falling?  _ The irritating thought was interrupted when, instead of hitting the floor, she was caught around the middle by a pair of strong arms and hauled upright against a broad, hard chest. One fantastic lungful confirmed that it was Draco. When she finally managed to turn around in his embrace, she looked up into his handsome, solemn face. “Are you alright?” To their left, the guards were gathered around the screeching intruder, but didn’t seem to be doing much. To their right, Ginny stood close by.

Draco held her close and lowered himself to the ground, settling her into his lap as he echoed, “Are  _ you _ alright?” Under Hermione’s hand his heart still thundered, but his expression was one of immense relief. He stroked a hand over her curls, and she gave a small sigh of contentment. Over his shoulder he called, “Would someone please make that noise stop? It’s giving me a headache.” He murmured as if to himself, “I need another potion.”

Hermione raised her hands to run her fingers through his soft, pale hair and made a sympathetic noise, but Ginny interrupted, “Oh, no - this is  _ not _ the time to go off into one of your romantic bubbles where you forget the rest of the world. Come on, get up!” Hermione was brutally ripped from the arms of her wizard by the surprisingly strong redhead, protesting fiercely the whole way. Ginny was unapologetic. “Shut it. We have work to do, and Lucius is going spare wondering how you are. Go pop down and give him a quick snog so we can find that idiot br-” She stopped herself just in time, amending her words quickly. “So we can find He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Draco groaned as he stood to his feet at their side, but Hermione appreciated Ginny’s attempt at humor.  _ Laughing beats worrying any day. _ “You mean The Ginger Lord?”

The three remaining guards had performed a Silencio as well as an Immobulus on Pansy by this point, and Hermione’s quip carried the short way across the corridor. Now they looked toward her, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement. Gore gave her an approving nod, as if to reiterate his statement from the morning before:  _ ‘Darkness has been banished from this House’ _ . Then his eyes went to her wizard. Aloud, he asked with obvious concern, “Are you well, Draco? You look quite pallid.”

The younger Malfoy said nothing, and a quick glance at his waxy complexion showed the real reason for his recent groan. _ That blow to his head must’ve been far worse than he’s been letting on _ . Hermione spoke up in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’m going to Side Along him to Lucius’ study  _ now _ .” Draco leaned heavily against her and his eyes dropped shut.

“Not inside! Apparate to the corridor outside of it,” Gore warned, “There’s no telling how many people there are within at the moment. Vince, you go first, then Miss Granger, and-”

With the urgency that accompanies the welfare of a loved one, Hermione barely waited for Vince to Apparate, wrapping an arm around her fiancé and imagining the closest corridor location to Lucius’ study she could visualize most clearly. Their Apparition was successful but unlucky, for it put them directly in the path of the wizard formerly known as Ron Weasley. Also, Vince was nowhere in sight.

Hermione froze, her eyes locked with those of her former friend and crush, and tried to push back against the increasingly unsteady weight of Draco. Ron’s expression was crazed and slightly unfocused, but his wand was steady as he aimed it straight at her. The redheaded wizard never took his eyes from hers. “Well, if it isn’t the pain in my arse herself. What’s wrong with loverboy?”

_ Mother of magic, what have I done? Where is Vince?!  _ The fact that Draco hadn’t yet seemed to notice Ron didn’t bode well for his current condition. Hermione snapped her mind out of its guilty loop of realization. “He’s hurt!” Her wand hand, which had dropped to her side at the completion of the Apparition, was now trapped at her side under Draco’s solid form and caught in his robes. She struggled to extract it while maintaining her upright position valiantly, to no avail.  _ He’s going to collapse on top of me any second, and then what will I be able to do? “ _ Don’t involve him in this.”  _ I’m sorry, Draco! _

Ron grinned, running his eyes over her torso. “He’s already involved. He’s finally marked you, I see. You know what that means.” He was rubbing his free hand over the front of his trousers suggestively. “Help me out with this problem, ‘Mione,” he whined, “It never goes away!”

She shuddered under his leer and quickly catalogued his appearance. He was in hospital robes, barefoot, and had some sort of thick metal band around his neck. His face was no longer the ugly shade of red it had been earlier in the week, but there was no Glamour now to hide the pustules that covered every inch of exposed skin.  _ Merlin protect us, that must be Ginny’s wand. He’s mad as a march hare and armed.  _ She tried to ignore his lewd suggestion much as Draco had done with Pansy.  _ Buy time. _ “It means that it’s time to give up, Ron. You need to go back to St. Mungo’s.”

He stopped stroking his shaft and growled angrily. “You’ve got to be the stupidest swot in existence - that’s not what it means at all! It  _ means _ that the Malfoys need to be eliminated, starting with this ferret.” His gaze was on her chest again. “I like that dress.”

_ No!  _ Somewhere nearby there was a very quiet footstep, but Ron didn’t seem to notice. Hermione raised her voice in an effort to draw attention. “I won’t let you touch him!" Draco sagged against her even further, his head dropping heavily on top of hers.

“He’s not the one I want to touch,” he smirked. Ron smirking wasn’t something Hermione ever wanted to see again.  _ Oh dear Circe, I’m going to vomit. _ He took a step toward them, and even though he was still several yards away it felt far too close. “In fact, I think it’s time to stop this game.” With several rapid movements of his wand hand and a barely audible mutter, he cast something directly at Draco.

Hermione finally allowed Draco’s dead weight to topple her in an effort to dodge whatever Ron had just sent their way, but felt it hit her wizard directly. They toppled to the ground in a heap just as Vince appeared from around the corner and distracted Ron, who took off. Vince left in swift pursuit. Noises of Apparition could be heard then, and the Goyles ran straight to them. Gore threw up a protective shield while Greg once more took out his Mediwizard kit, pulled Draco off of Hermione gently, and began running scans. The elder Goyle asked gruffly, “What’s he been hit with?”

“I don’t know! He was already barely conscious when it happened.” Hermione watched tensely as Greg finished his scans.  _ This is my fault - I didn’t Apparate to the right place.  _ She whispered, “Oh my love, I’m sorry.”

The two guards remained silent, and Hermione interpreted this as their disapproval of her actions. After a whole minute without speaking and several administrations of various potions and healing charms, Greg shook his head in frustration. “He has a concussion, but no other physical signs of a hex. It must have been one aimed at his mind, or something very dark.”

Hermione looked up hopefully. “If we could get his wand, we could use Prior Incantato . . .”

“I can hear wandfight from here,” Gore said flatly, “He’s already fired off another charm or hex by now.”

Voices could be heard coming around the corner, and the three looked up to see Lucius approaching, wand raised. Gore dropped his shield, and the elder Malfoy dropped to his knees beside the inert body of Draco. “Don’t tell me - he hit his head again.”

“Ron hit him directly with some hex as well - or something even worse - and he isn’t responding to Greg’s treatment,” Hermione murmured. She looked up at him hesitantly, sure that he somehow knew what she’d done.

Lucius arched one aristocratic brow and turned to her. “I wouldn’t have thought  _ that one _ would have the discipline or capacity for dark arts.”

Hermione shook her head vehemently. “He doesn’t. I’m willing to bet it isn’t that at all.”

“Something of a mental nature that isn’t dark,” mused Lucius.

“And there was no light.” A lightning bolt hit Hermione’s brain then, and she offered, “It could have been a Confundus charm. It makes sense – he was already nearly unconscious, so no one would see the effects. It could even be what’s keeping him from waking up.”

The counter curse was quickly performed, and Draco’s eyelids fluttered slightly. Gore gave a small smile. “There’s our young prince. Greg, get him to the study and lay him down on a couch. Ward the room and don’t let anyone in or out until I send my Patronus.” He glanced around at the small group until his eyes settled on Hermione, and then he grinned. “And don’t let this one out of your sight.” The younger Goyle complied, using a Mobilicorpus to gently transport Draco.

Gore Goyle’s amused order gave Hermione pause for thought.  _ I thought they were upset with me _ . She looked at him, guilty and confused, but Lucius was already guiding her to her feet. He pressed a kiss to her hand and looked between her and the elder Goyle suspiciously for a moment. “Is there something you need to confess, pet?”

She opened her mouth, ready to bare her soul and accept whatever punishment he decided was fitting for endangering Draco and herself, but Gore laughed and said, “It appears our future Mistress hasn’t been allowed to acquaint herself with the corridor outside your study yet, Lucius – let alone the rest of the manor. Have you been keeping her locked away all week?”

Lucius’ mouth twitched. “Perhaps.” He narrowed his eyes slightly at her, leaning in slightly as he murmured in a silky tone, “Did she wander off?”

A delightful thrill ran up her spine and caused her to shudder in anticipation, but Gore’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “No, but she Side Alonged Draco to this odd spot. Took a moment to find her.”

Lucius looked around at the place where they stood just as Hermione did the same. When their eyes met, he smirked and she blushed in realization of just where exactly she’d Apparated.  _ This is where we kissed after my spanking yesterday morning, on our way back to the great hall. It’s not even close to where I meant to end up _ . Her wizard looked pleased. “That is most gratifying to hear, my prize.” He walked with Hermione to his study, pausing to kiss her hand again at the door.

She resisted his efforts to guide her through the doorway. She wanted to be near Draco, and yet a large part of her demanded proof that justice would finally be served to the two menaces. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short by the arrival of Hugo Crabbe, who grinned down at her as he said to Lucius, “He’s been captured, and the Aurors are preparing to take them both into secure custody.” The huge guard left as quickly as he’d arrived.

“Oh, this should be excellent,” Hermione said in an anticipatory manner. “I can’t wait to see those two packed up and shipped out for good.” She turned in his arms and pulled the study door shut behind her, adding, “Don’t even think about robbing me of my fun. I’m coming with you.”

The elder Malfoy was regarding her with amused surprise. He offered his arm courteously and drew her hand under it to rest on his strong forearm. “You would choose to spend more time in the company of those two idiots rather than at Draco’s bedside?”

“Well, when you say it like that . . .”  _ He’s teasing me _ . _ The choice is mine. _ “Yes. He’s probably sleeping, and what Draco doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Lucius’ eyes twinkled down at her as he remarked appreciatively, “Spoken like a true Slytherin. If we hurry, we can return before he wakes.”

As they rounded the last corner, Hermione said quietly, “There are so many questions I have for him, and so much I’d like to say.” Glancing up to Lucius, she added, “Do you think he’s even capable of comprehension?”

He rubbed his thumb against the soft silk covering her lower back, but this time the gesture was one of comfort. Hermione took advantage of their lack of company to lay her head against the side of his strong chest - something she hadn’t yet done while walking with him - and Lucius smiled gently down at her. “I think that my Bespoken one has a tender heart, if even now she wishes to reason with and understand such a creature.” He lifted his hand to her head and stroked his fingers through her curls. “But, in answer to your question, I do not think him capable of such. His mind has become riddled with his disease until all he can think of is his obsession with you and the desires of his flesh.” She shivered at that, and Lucius wrapped his arm around her protectively. He continued, “Do as you like, but neither is worthy of your slightest regard.”

“Is there nothing you’d say to either one?” She asked curiously.

Lucius shook his head. “My refusal to give in to their demands for attention will far outweigh any words I might choose. Do as you like, though, pet.”

The two entered the great hall to find it filled with people and a heavy silence. Harry and his girls stood with the Weasley family, while nearby the Delacours sat quietly on a couch. The guard families stood at varying degrees of attention - some had taken stations around the perimeter of the large room, and some stood or sat with wands at the ready. Gore and Hugo were with the Aurors near the enormous hearth, where Pansy and Ron stood in magical restraints. At the sight of an antlered Pansy wearing the Malfoy wedding dress, Lucius gave a low growl but he said nothing.

Fleur came to Hermione’s side and took her hand. The action drew the attention of the two criminals, who both began struggling against their bindings. It was obvious that they had been silenced, and Hermione sent a mental word of thanks to whoever had thought to do that. The blonde witch whispered, “That was the longest hour of my life - I’m so glad to see that you’re safe.”

The loyal presence of her chaperone brought every emotion to the surface, but she shoved them back down as best she could.  _ I will not cry in front of Pansy Parkinson.  _ Hermione breathed back, “One of the guards was badly hurt, and Draco too. I just want them gone forever.” She glanced at the Aurors. “What are they waiting for? Why don’t they just take them away?”

“I think they’re waiting to see if you and your wizards wish to address them first.”

“What?!” She hissed. Suddenly she understood Lucius’ words - the fact that the two so desperately wanted her attention caused her to ignore them out of spite.  _ I won’t give them the satisfaction. I’m sure killing them with my bare hands might feel slightly better, but this definitely works. _ “No - I have nothing to say to them.” She exchanged a meaningful look with her elder wizard, who nodded and walked slowly toward the group at the hearth.

There was a flurry of activity, and a portkey was produced by one of the Aurors. Ron and Pansy were magically bound to it, the Aurors took hold, and it activated in a burst of bright light. In that rather anticlimactic way, the House of Malfoy was finally rid of Pansy Parkinson and the weeded sixthborn of the House of Weasley. Silence prevailed for a few minutes in the great hall, until Lucius said calmly, “Those of you who were involved in wandfight or pursuit, or witnessed either, will be interviewed by the Ministry shortly. Until then, the wards will prevent you from Flooing or Disapparating from the estate.” He hesitated and added gravely, “We are sorry to have brought this upon you all.”

Hermione watched as her husband-to-be approached Arthur Weasley. The fatherly man looked on the point of tears, and, when Lucius clapped him on the back in a supportive, masculine way, he collapsed in the blond wizard’s arms. She went to Molly, who was nodding at her with a tremulous smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” she crooned, smoothing down the front of Hermione’s dress and patting her cheek, “Oh, but you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’m so glad, my dear - so glad to see you safe and sound. Where is Draco?”

“He, errrrr, hit his head rather hard. He’s in Lucius’ study. I should probably get back to him, in case he wakes up.”

Molly enfolded her in a motherly hug that felt  _ wonderful _ . “Of course you should, sweetheart. Why don’t you go take care of Draco, and the girls and I will check in on you in a bit? We have a few things to do first.”

Hermione snorted indelicately. “A  _ few _ things? Please forgive me, Molly, but I don’t think even  _ you _ can turn this disaster around.” She sighed against Molly’s shoulder.

Molly drew back with a slightly offended expression. “Hermione Jean, I cannot believe you said that. Now, you go do as I say, and let’s not jump to silly conclusions. Off you go!”

Hermione found herself being shooed away by not only Molly, but by Ginny and Luna as well. “Fine - I’m going! Nice to see you all, too!” She huffed with a poorly concealed smile. It was nice to have a family comprised of so many strong individuals, even if some of them were bossy, or slightly lunatic, or embarrassing . . . she decided to stop before she lost sight of all their  _ good _ qualities. Fleur and her sister were motioning for her to join them on the couch where they sat with their father, and she wandered that way.

Reynard Delacour stood and bowed to her. “Mademoiselle Granger, it is again a great pleasure.”

She gave an awkward, shallow curtsy. It felt odd for a wizard other than one of her own to greet her in such a formal way.  _ Maybe it’s a Pure-blood thing, and I’ll just have to get used to it.  _ “Hello, Monsieur Delacour.” She turned quickly to the younger blonde witch and smiled. “So . . . never a dull moment with those Weasley wizards!” Then she winced, recognizing her gaffe. Trying to recover, she quickly corrected, “I mean to say, errrrr, that is - well what I meant was . . .Oh.” She trailed off miserably. “May I begin again?”

Gabi gave a silvery laugh of pure delight. “I thought it was hilarious!”

Hermione looked back and forth between the Delacours, finding that both Fleur and her father also seemed to be amused. Fleur took pity on her, finally. She whispered excitedly, “Hermione, my father has granted precedence to both stakes, and Gabi and I find that our hearts are in accord. Mr. Weasley has offered to find a Ministry official to perform my binding ritual as soon as he is cleared to leave the manor. I will be bound to Bill, Charlie, and Percy before your reception!”

If it was possible, Fleur was even more beautiful in her happiness. Hermione surprised them both by shrieking loudly and throwing her arms around her friend. “That’s wonderful!”

The blonde witch froze at first, but relaxed into the congratulatory embrace - especially when Gabi said loudly, “Oh, Phlegm - lighten up!”

Fleur pulled out of Hermione’s hug to glare at her little sister. “Don’t call me that, Gabrielle.”

“Don’t call you what, Phlegm? I don’t understand,” Gabi answered with a look of utter innocence on her perfect face.

“ _ Do not  _ call me Phlegm,” the chaperone growled.

“Girls, that’s enough,” admonished Reynard without looking very concerned. He was communicating with Mr. Weasley from across the room, and from their gestures it looked as though they were making plans to have a drink together shortly. Hermione looked at the nearest timepiece, to find that it was barely ten o’clock. It seemed a bit early to drink in her mind, but then again they’d just made plans to join their families _twice_ _over_ , and she’d had celebratory alcohol at her wedding shower.

The Delacour sisters certainly looked angelic, but their eyes had narrowed to angry slits and their wands were now drawn on each other. Hermione backed away, citing Draco as her excuse. A glance toward the Weasley wizards proved that they were all avidly watching the quiet altercation with admiring smirks.  _ Did they just - are they taking bets?!  _ Reynard seemed to have given up trying to gain control of the situation, and he followed Hermione’s retreat.

“I don’t understand - Fleur is so level-headed! Is this common?”

The Delacour wizard scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed, although he was still smiling. “You have no idea. My youngest daughter has the ability to climb under anyone’s skin at will, and she delights in winding up her older sister in public settings.” He added in a thoughtful voice, “Perhaps it’s not such a good idea for them to be marrying into the same House.”

Hermione smirked as she turned away toward Lucius. “Monsieur Delacour, trust me - these are matches made in heaven.”

Lucius watched her cross the great hall with an admiring expression. He bowed over her hand and pressed a kiss to it, and the small curtsy she made was anything but awkward.  _ Because nothing is awkward with Lucius Malfoy _ . “My prize, you look radiant. Will you join me in my study now?”

“Oh, yes  _ please _ .” As they walked in the customary way, she recounted her conversations with Molly and the Delacours. Lucius listened contentedly as she talked, and when they had rounded the corner and were no longer in sight of the great hall and its occupants, he pulled her close to his side. She concluded her monologue by asking, “What on earth does Molly think she can do in a such a short amount of time?”

“The manor is nearly indestructible, pet. Whatever damage has been done can be undone with little effort.”

“The manor is  _ not _ indestructible,  _ obviously _ ,” she argued.

Lucius chuckled. “The same magic that transforms the plants and animals on this piece of land runs through the walls of this house. I’ve told you before, my lovely:  _ ley lines _ . The property sits over more of them than should be possible. Molly will have no difficulty accomplishing her goals this morning.”

“Lucius, there are entire walls missing in my suite.” She wanted to believe him, but her sense of logic contended that even magical repairs took time and energy.

Lucius smiled in a predatory way. “Then it’s a good thing you have no need of your own room tonight.” They reached his study, and he ushered her in. The curtains had been drawn, the fire lit, and two couches had been lengthened and widened to accommodate the sleeping forms of Draco and Vincent Sr.

Greg Goyle sat between them, reading quietly in a chair. He looked up when they entered and said quietly, “They’re both doing well. Vincent will be down for a few days, but Draco’s feeling better already - he’s just dozing between his potions. I’ll just be out in the garden.”

Hermione made her way to Draco’s makeshift bed and crouched down on the floor beside him. Despite her best efforts to leave him alone, her hands made their way to his tousled hair. She combed it away from his face, stroking her fingers through it gently. His lips shaped into an almost-smile, and he said sleepily, “That had better not be you, Greg. But don’t stop.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered, “Yes, because Greg Goyle would play with your hair and kiss you.”

He smiled wider this time, but his eyes remained closed. “He might. He’s very nurturing.”

“How does my favorite moron feel?” His cheek was begging for a kiss now, and she generously gave it two.

Draco sighed through his nose. “My head hurts, sweetheart. Please don’t stop touching me.”

Hermione crept up onto the edge of the couch, and within moments the two had curled around each other. Draco’s head was wrapped in her arms and pressed against her chest, and his arms were entwined around her waist. She continued to play with his hair.

At some point Draco must have opened his eyes. “Hermione?”

“Yes, my love?”

“How did the front of your dress get ripped open?” He shifted his head slightly, and suddenly she could feel him smiling against the bare, inner curve of her breast.

Hermione looked down, slightly shocked to see that the deep V neckline of her reception gown had been neatly split along the center seam right down to the high waistline of the skirt.  _ Gracious Merlin, no one’s said anything. Not even the girls. _ “Errrrr, I heard it rip  _ several _ times this morning. I don’t exactly know.”  _ Maybe no one noticed - after all, we were rather busy.  _ A mental image of Ron eyeing her up and down came to mind, causing her to shudder. The movement caused Draco to groan in pain, and she apologized profusely. She sought something else with which to replace the memory of that and finally settled on Lucius’ admiring gaze in the great hall. That caused her eyes to narrow for a moment.  _ He knew! _ Then again, Lucius probably wouldn’t have wanted her parading around in front of the Weasley wizards bare breasted, so it probably wasn’t as bad as she first assumed.  _ Draco’s got his face planted in my ribcage - of course he saw it right away. _ “I’m sure I can fix it before the reception.”

“Unzip your gown, little witch.” He traced his fingers up the back of her gown, even as his head flopped tiredly against her. “I want to see my wedding present to you.”

“That won’t happen until you let that subnormal brain of yours heal.” When his clever fingers slid the sipper down an inch, she whispered firmly, “ _ No _ .”

His low whine was particularly pitiful as he argued, “I’m fine.”

She laughed quietly, and then realizing by his pouty silence that he was serious, pulled back to look him in the eye. “No. I’m not making conjugal visits to my brain-damaged husband in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s. You can just be patient and wait until  _ I _ say you’re better.”

“Hermione,” he began, his voice stretched with pain, “I-”

“ _ No. _ ” She tried a different tactic, peeking out of the corner of her eye to see Lucius sitting nearby, watching her with a peaceful expression on his handsome face. Then she turned back to Draco, pulling slightly back. “I’m not taking off my dress, but you can  _ feel _ them.” That caught his attention, but its effect was the reverse of what she wanted. His hand slid around to her side, thumb brushing over the shape of her shield, and then he was pushing her torn dress out of his way. His gaze was much less sleepy as it riveted on her bared breast, and she gently but firmly removed his hands, inching backward to create more space between them. “ _ No _ .” It probably would have been best to just get up and move to a safe distance, but the idea of being any farther away from him right now was unthinkable.

Draco dragged her back to him easily, shook his head between her small breasts and tugged on her zipper again. She wracked her brain for an image he might possibly decide was worth waiting for.  _ My wedding present to him and Lucius! _ _ What would Ginny do? Better yet, what would Astoria do? _ She closed her eyes briefly, channeling the sexual confidence of her friends.  _ Oh, dear sweet Circe, here goes . . .  _ Fighting a blush, she looked down at her husband-to-be. “I have a  _ present  _ for you, Draco, and you’re going to love it. Pictures of me in varying states of undress.” He hesitated in his efforts, and she continued whispering as she stroked his hair, “If you rest, I’ll give you one in a little while.”

He looked up at her with as much intensity as his headache and the potions allowed, and the resulting expression was slightly dreamy. Hermione decided it was a  _ very _ good look for him. “Undress?”

She bent quickly to kiss his head so he didn’t see the uncontrollable smirk on her face. “Mmmhmmm. I’m riding your Firebolt in one, Draco. Isn’t that what you want – for me to ride your Firebolt?”

He groaned quietly, and she continued, “And there’s another of me in my bed. I’ll bet that’s something you’ve imagined – me in that bedding you had designed.” Draco gave another almost inaudible groan, and his eyes closed. He pulled her closer with one arm, and nuzzled her breast, tracing the outline of her shield through the fabric of her dress. “There’s another of me in part of my school uniform. Surely that’s a picture worth waiting for.”

The blonde wizard made a low sound of pure agony. “Only  _ part _ of your . . .  _ Merlin _ . Yes, please. Anything, Hermione. I’ll do  _ anything _ . Just let me see them.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Then be a good boy and do what you’re told. As soon as your head stops hurting so badly, I’ll give you the first installment.”

Draco gave an acquiescing grimace. “Lucius warned me that you could be devious, but I didn’t believe him. You really should have been in Slytherin.”

Hermione breathed a laugh just as a silent timer went off on the side table. “I think it’s time for your next dose of potions. I’ll just get Greg.” She slid his head back onto his pillow despite his protests and stood, peering down at the bodice of her dress. Sure enough, at some point during one of their struggles, it had split down the front to show a long, narrow stretch of skin. She flashed Lucius an irritated glance, but he only smiled smugly.

Greg, it seemed, didn’t need to be told he was needed. He came through the French windows at that point and went straight to his youngest patient, administering several potions before disappearing back out to the rose garden. Draco drifted off into sleep almost immediately.

No longer needed as a pillow, Hermione stood idly for a moment before realizing that Lucius was regarding her in an almost hopeful manner. For some reason this struck her as amusing.  _ Lucius wants his cuddle time.  _ She went to him and tried curling up on his lap as was her wont, but the restrictive skirt of the reception gown impeded her efforts.

In frustration she resorted to sheer stubborn force, at which point the seam along her upper thigh gave out with a loud, high ripping noise. Lucius’ ensuing laughter was quiet but full, and it vibrated through her body where it leaned against his. He, too, seemed to find the new neckline of her gown fascinating, and he ran his fingers along the exposed skin repeatedly. “What was it you said that so enraptured Draco just then, pet?” Lucius ran his lips slowly down along her cheek to her mouth, then pressed them to hers in a rhythm of aggressive push and seductive pull. “Hmmmm?”

Completely distracted, she opened her mouth to answer and was silenced by the intrusion of his warm, wet tongue. “Mmmmmmm.” In this Malfoy-induced state all coherent thought faded, along with both the recently passed and still impending events of the day, until all Hermione could do was try to remember how to breathe. Physical desire, kindled by Draco’s own, was slowly catching fire in every part of her and she felt its flames lick along her bones and tendons with delicious heat.

Lucius pulled away with a smirk, much to her dismay, and he resisted her efforts to recapture his talented mouth. “Ah, ah, ah - what were you saying to Draco? Something tells me it bears repeating.”

Hermione gave a small growl of displeasure as the fog in her brain cleared somewhat.  _ Oh, you want to tease, do you? I’m becoming quite proficient at that myself . . .  _ She ran her fingers down the front of his waistcoat to the waist of his trousers, where she barely dipped her fingertips beneath the soft wool fabric. She swiped her tongue across the corner of her mouth and didn’t even try to hide her saucy smile as she replied, “I was telling him that I sat for some pictures for the two of you.” The curly-haired witch leaned in close to her wizard’s ear. “Pictures for our  _ boudoir _ .” Her wizard’s eyes glazed slightly, and his smug expression morphed into one of deep thought, so she added, “And if you’re a  _ very good boy _ , I’ll give them to you in a while.”


	70. Friday Late Morning

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday Late Morning

The look on Lucius’ face was priceless. Whereas seconds before he’d been brimming with his usual brand of amused confidence, now he simply gaped at her, speechless. Hermione bit the corner of her lip hard enough that she was able to keep a straight face. _I’ve reduced Lucius Malfoy to . . . whatever this is._ It seemed only right to go in for the kill. “What’s the matter, Lucius, kitten got your tongue?”

He snapped out of his stupor. “If I’m a _good boy_ , pet?” Lucius leaned toward her slowly with an indecipherable expression on his face. “I haven’t been a _boy_ in a very long time, and I have no desire to be _good_.” He spoke those last few words against her temple and ran the fingers of one hand across her collarbones.

_That’s right, he wants to corrupt me._ His touch and tone created within Hermione acute physical desire. _Sweet Circe, how is it he’s able to turn the tables on me so quickly!_ Fortunately, her mind was only slightly clouded with lust and still able to predict the next few probable twists and turns of this game. _I wonder . . ._ She turned her head slowly and pressed her lips to his. When he responded, she gave a moan of pleasure and opened her mouth immediately. The moment Lucius pushed his tongue into her mouth, though, she firmly sucked at it and closed her teeth just enough so that he would feel them against that wet, vulnerable flesh; and when his eyes flew open in surprise, she was already looking at him in heavy-lidded triumph.

The next ten seconds were a blur of action and reaction. He broke the kiss only to grab her by the waist and stand, and then his lips were on hers again and he was pushing her against the nearest wall. “Oh, kitten, but I love your claws,” he groaned, his voice much rougher than it had been a minute ago. The sound intensified the pleasant ache that had been building in her sex to a needy throb. _More_ . Lucius drove her body into the wood paneling with the force of his movements, lifting her higher by his grip on her waist. His mouth moved to her neck, where he bit and sucked without mercy, and his hips pressed into her stomach with urgency. _More_ . Hermione’s arms tangled immediately around his broad shoulders and her legs fought the constraints of her gown’s slim skirt. _More_ . She made a noise of frustration and he seemed to know exactly what it was about because the next thing she knew, Lucius had taken the recently ripped side seam of her skirt in one fist and torn it open down to the hem. He pushed the offending material up and out of the way, stooping to run his hands up the backs of her thighs, cup her backside, and hike her up to his level. The frantic urgency of his motions caused her to scramble higher against him and secure her legs around his middle. Now his hips were seated between hers, and finally his hard shaft was pressed against her seam. They both moaned at the incredible sensation. _More_.

Just as Hermione arched against Lucius, though, the heels of her shoes pressing into the backs of his legs, his eyes flew open and he seemed to realize what he’d just done. Within the space of a heartbeat he broke their heated embrace, set her on her feet, and was now stepping away, growling, “Witch, you will be my undoing.”

Even in her lust-addled state, the curly-haired witch couldn’t help but think that it was the second time in less than a minute that he had been less than his usual collected self. Her victory in unsettling her wizard, however, was short lived. Her body had been teased with the promise of pleasure and now rioted against the injustice of his retreat. “Lucius!” she protested.

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes tightly closed, as he answered, “I am _not_ a nineteen year old boy,” he dropped his hand and looked at her, “And I will _not_ be ruled by my impulses.”

_No, no, no, no! That was a very good impulse!_ Hermione tried to think her way around her wizard’s argument. She approached him slowly, stopping only when the toes of her shoes were touching his and she was looking directly up into his handsome face. Laying her hands against his chest she countered, “Yes, so you’ve said. You’re not a boy, and you don’t like to be good. Tell me, my love,” she murmured, “does that mean you’re a _bad man_?”

He took another step back, bumping into the side of his armchair in an uncharacteristically graceless way. “It means that I am attempting to exercise self control.”

“But I _like_ your impulses!” She cried softly in frustration, stepping toward him again. “Lucius, I _want_ you.”

The confusion cleared from Lucius’ noble features abruptly. His eyes narrowed as he loomed over her, and now he was once again the predator. Hermione shivered in anticipation of what might come. He stalked her slowly until the wall behind her cut off her backward retreat. He leaned down, bracing his weight with one hand against the dark wood paneling near her head. “You _want_ me, do you? I can assure you that I _want_ you. However, I think that in the excitement of this moment what we _want_ are two very different things. _You_ want to feel pleasure, but _I_ want much more. By the most ancient of traditions, pet, I may take what is mine at any point of our wedding day.” His lips were close to her ear, tickling that sensitive skin with every word. “I am released from the primary rule of our courtship and may breach this pure body with my tongue; my fingers; my _cock_.” As he said that, his free hand traveled down her torso to cup her mound possessively. Hermione gave an involuntary groan, but he removed his hand and continued, “Would you like that, sweetling? To be taken like the prize that you are _right now_? Hmmmmm?”

“Nnnngh,” she replied cleverly.

“Why would I settle for a few hurried touches when I am allowed so much more?” Lucius pulled back and stroked a finger down her bared sternum. “It would take very little convincing to make you believe it is what you want as well, and then where would we be? Sharing our first coupling against a wall in a space shared by guards, where any number of other people might burst in.” He leaned to press a chaste yet sensual kiss to her parted lips. “Of course, that could happen regardless of what we do. I leave it up to you, Hermione. Do you still _want_ me?”

Hermione’s body was still thrumming with desire, but her brain processed Lucius’ words, and she grimaced. She looked at him for barely a second before dropping her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Not here. Not like that.” He was right, of course. What if Molly had walked in on them just a few seconds ago? What if Greg had needed Lucius, or Vincent had woken from his potion-induced slumber? She would have been mortified even though they hadn’t been doing anything much beyond kissing, really.

Lucius tilted her chin with one strong finger so that she was forced to look him in the eye again. He looked amused, and he kissed her again, this time with one of his patented tonguefuls. When they broke apart to breathe finally, he murmured silkily, “I promise you that I will not make a habit of denying such demands after today, regardless of propriety.”

That elicited a rush of arousal fluid into her already damp undergarments. _I think he just said he’s not averse to sex in public places._ She moaned his name hoarsely in supplication. “Luuuuuuciuuuuuusss.”

Both seemed to immediately forget their agreement of only a few moments before. Lucius kissed her again unreservedly, and Hermione pressed herself against him. Their hands moved over each other’s bodies purposefully; Hermione’s ran hers over the broad expanse of chest directly in front of her, and Lucius’ went straight to her arse. She was just contemplating how best to even out their difference in height when he reeled away from her with a scowl and a ragged sigh. “Fucking _hell_. We need a diversion.” He scrubbed a hand over his face in a frustrated way. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, hands on hips, when she noticed Lucius’ eyes taking in the state of her ruined dress with a speculative air. She was disappointed, however, when his only reaction was to nod and say, “And I know the perfect one.” With that simple statement, the passion of Lucius’ darker side was quickly restrained by the formal courtesy she had come to know so well.

There was a whining noise coming from somewhere, and it took a few seconds for Hermione to realize it was she who was making it. She practically growled, “My _mind_ knows you’re right, but my _body_ is thinking something else entirely right now!”

He chuckled and offered her his arm. “Come, pet. Let us see what can be done about this gown of yours.”

Hermione took his arm and walked with him unhappily to his desk. “I hope you’re satisfied,” she muttered peevishly, “because I am positively miserable right now _and_ my knickers are drenched. That’s _not_ a good combination.”

Lucius laughed quietly and stole a kiss. “I think that bodes well for later tonight. Don’t you agree?” Then he summoned a house elf, one Hermione had not yet met. “Beetle!”

A tiny, wizened creature Apparated into their presence. “Master summons Beetle?” Its gender was indeterminate, but it was hands-down the oldest house elf Hermione had ever seen.

The elder Malfoy nodded respectfully. “This is the Lady, Beetle, and she requires your help with her garment.”

The elf bowed stiffly to the curly-haired witch. “Welcome, future Mistress. How may Beetle serve?”

“Errrrr,” Hermione glanced at Lucius dubiously. “Well, my dress has been badly torn. Is that something . . . I mean, if it isn’t too much trouble . . .” she trailed off uncertainly. _Merciful Merlin, what’s an ancient thing like that doing still working?!_ She rethought her recent reassessment of house elves and their employment by magical households.

Beetle stepped very close to her and examined the torn seam carefully before turning to Lucius and saying sternly, “What has Beetle told Master about ruining the Lady’s garments? First they are always wrinkled, and now they are torn!” He (or she) held out a small hand in a peremptory gesture. “Please.”

Hermione stared stupidly, until Lucius said in an amused tone, “You mustn’t keep Beetle waiting, pet. You heard her. Off with your gown at once.”

Despite the fact that she had been more than willing to be stripped of her clothes only heated minutes ago, Hermione now realized she had no desire to bare herself in Lucius’ study with the possibility of so many different intrusions. “I beg your pardon?”

Her wizard doffed his outer robes, holding them up as a makeshift screen. “Quickly, my prize. Beetle’s time is most valuable. We mustn’t keep her waiting.”

_It’s a she._ Hermione unzipped the tattered garment with a flick of her wand and slithered out of it quickly. She passed it around the robe to the house elf. “Thank you very much for helping, Beetle. It wasn’t the best dress to wear for a wandfight.”

Beetle’s forehead wrinkled even more as she said in a reprimanding tone, “That is what you will say to Beetle’s face? That this long seam has been ripped during a wandfight?”

The young witch peeked her face out and blushed. “Errrrr, not that one.” She opened her mouth to continue but was cut off immediately.

“Beetle will take this for mending,” the tiny creature said, “and _Master_ will keep his hands to himself.” She shook a gnarled finger at Lucius. “Or Beetle will find out.” She disappeared with a _crack_ that sounded as stern as the rest of her.

Hermione regarded her husband-to-be with shock in her brown eyes, but he was looking away like a chastised child and wrapping his robe around her shoulders with the utmost decorum. She spun toward him, securing the oversized robes around her. “Lucius, were you just scolded by a-”

He interrupted with a furtive glance around the room. “Hush!” In a low tone he added, “She hears everything.”

“But she’s your-”

“Yes! And when you know her as I do . . .” He trailed off with an uneasy expression. _Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is slightly terrified of a house elf._ The thought caused a giggle to erupt from deep within her. He looked down at her with narrowed eyes. “You will understand.”

_I’ll bet she helped raise him._ Hermione tucked that thought away for future analysis. Outwardly she said, “Isn’t she a bit . . . _advanced in years_ to be still working?”

Lucius smiled down at her softly. “Come sit with me, lovely one, and I’ll tell you a secret about house elves.” He sat down in his desk chair and drew her down onto his lap. It wasn’t nearly close enough for Hermione’s tastes, but she reminded herself of the potential for interruption and of her wizard’s wisdom. He drew her head to that fragrant nook between his jaw and shoulder and continued quietly, “Their vitality is inherently linked to their need to serve. When they cease serving the family to which they have bound themselves, they cease to be.”

Hermione took a hit of his scent and murmured, “Do you mean to say that if she retires . . .?”

“Indeed.” They were quiet for a moment, before he added in a different tone of voice, “Besides, pet; if Beetle were not here, who would pick up my shirts from the floor?”

“ _You_ could, you snake!” She poked him gently in the side as the realization of what he had said crashed over her. _Lucius doesn’t want to lose an old house elf, and he lets her talk to him as though he were a child. I was right - Beetle helped raise him._

He looked at her with a playful frown. “And deprive Beetle the pleasure of admonishing me on a daily basis? Nonsense! She’ll be thrilled to have your things to look after now; I’ve restricted her to laundry duty for years, and with Draco home so little she’s constantly hoping I’ll dribble soup down my shirt and make actual work for her.”

She regarded him for a moment, heart full of that wild, protective love which had sprung up so unexpectedly during their short courtship. “I love you.”

His well-formed mouth turned up into a very small, very genuine smile. “I assure you, I return that sentiment with the entirety of my being.” They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a time, until Lucius chuckled and said, “That brain of yours is working away quite noisily, pet. Care to share what has you thinking so loudly?”

“”Several different things: I was wondering if Reynard Delacour’s decision to grant precedence was jeopardized by R- by _him_ at any point. And what am I going to wear to the ritual tonight, now that my gown is on its way to a Ministry holding cell? Then I thought of the Nott’s visit today, and what it might be like.” She sighed against his scarf and shirt collar, playing with a button of his waistcoat. “Mostly, though, I was thinking about the clumsy way I fought today.”

Lucius ran his hand over her curls and down her back and, in a very masculine-minded way, began at the beginning of her list. “That one has been weeded. His actions carry no weight, because he has been stricken from our society. I’m sure Reynard will discuss the issue with Arthur this morning, but obviously the Delacour covenant desires these unions.”

Hermione raised her head to look at her wizard. “I just realized that Fleur and her sister have no brothers. Is this the end of the House of Delacour?”

“It is for Reynard’s direct line, although his family is large and the name itself will continue.”

“Do you worry about that?” She suddenly regretted her earlier fantasies of the platinum-haired daughter. _What if we end up with only girls? What if we don’t end up with any children at all? What if I am the single-handed cause of the end of the Malfoy line?_

Lucius interrupted her bout of internal angst with a smug smirk. “I plan to prove the vigor of the House of Malfoy to you in short order, my prize.” It was his turn to sigh as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Perhaps we should move to your next pondering, although I’m afraid the subject of your wedding gown might lead along the same path.”

“Ugh. I cannot _believe_ that troll found it and decided to wear it!” Hermione fumed, “I never even got a good look at it.”

“It was spun of Acromantula silk,” he murmured, pulling her back to her nook, “and very lovely. It had dozens of buttons down the back. I looked forward to taking it off of you slowly.” His hand trailed down her robe-covered back.

Hermione gave a quiet breath of laughter. “Of course you did. Well, in that case, I’ll just look for a gown in my closet with lots of fasteners. That’s alright, isn’t it, that I won’t be wearing the dress you had made for me?” She remembered their brief conversation about wedding plans and her dress quite clearly. Lucius had been adamant on only two points: being married on the estate and her wearing that dress.

He dipped his head to catch her eye. His were twinkling, although his mouth was set in a serious line. “There was a matching veil that seems to have eluded Miss Parkinson. Find it and wear it in lieu of your dress when you come to us tonight.”

_Sweet Circe, he’s serious . . ._ Hermione’s mouth opened and closed once or twice while her brain took that thought and ran away with it. _That requires further analysis. Much further analysis._ Finally she found her voice. “I thought you wanted a lot of buttons.”

Lucius broke his gaze with a chuckle and straightened his neck. “I want you, my prize. Wear what you like, so long as it was given to you by us.” He shifted again beneath her. “I believe you also had questions about your friend’s visit this afternoon.”

Hermione’s mind was still caught up on her wizard’s suggestion. It made her heart race, and she couldn’t decide if it was from anxiety or arousal. Shaking her head, she cleared that thought from her brain. “Should I be apprehensive? You and Draco looked a bit nervous when we discussed it earlier.”

This elicited a full-bellied laugh from the blond wizard. “I think it is always wise to be apprehensive when approaching any social situation involving a Ravenclaw witch. As for this particular instance, you must prepare yourself for the fact that Astoria will most likely be garbed only in her rune and whatever jewels her wizards have given her.”

Hermione whipped upright in his lap, practically screeching, “Are you saying she’s going to be completely _naked_?!”

Lucius shushed her, glancing across the large room at the two sleeping wizards. “She may wear a few charmed objects as well, but they will most likely do nothing more than highlight her state of undress.”

“Why would _she_ . . . never mind that question, I know the answer. Why would the _Notts_ want to parade their Bespoke Witch around like that in front of other wizards?”

“Honestly, pet, I cannot wrap my mind around that notion. However, having known Theodore well all my life I have considerable insight into the lifestyle he espouses. His philosophy of sexual gratification has always included bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and pleasure found through pain.

_How did I not see that coming? Huh._ Aloud she said, “That makes sense. “

Lucius regarded her with one eyebrow raised incredulously. “This doesn’t bother you, or raise more questions?”

“There’s a correlating Muggle lifestyle. I was, uh,” she blushed, “exposed to it once.”

“In what way?” The elder Malfoy’s voice had taken on a forbidding tone.

She rushed to clarify, “No, no! Nothing like that. During the summer of my fourth year my parents and I went next door with a basket of wine and fruit to welcome the new neighbors, and the woman answered the door nude except for a collar and chain around her neck.” The memory caused her to give an embarrassed snort and cover her face with one hand. “I was understandably confused, and my parents felt it necessary to explain alternative lifestyles in a fairly detailed way. Let’s just say I don’t have any questions.” That seemed to appease her wizard’s jealousy. She looked at him shyly and added, “You know, you fall under some of those categories yourself, Lucius. You like to discipline me, and you’re definitely dominant, _sir_.”

His eyes darkened and he drew her toward him, saying against the corner of her mouth, “Indubitably, and you seem to like that, pet; your body responds to me in the most delightful manner.” Hermione’s heart stuttered as he kissed her forcefully, parting her lips with a strong thrust of his tongue. The desire that had been denied earlier welled back up even stronger, and she squirmed on his lap in an attempt to get closer to him. When he pulled back he purred in that silky tone of his, “It’s responding right now: your arousal has soaked through my robes and trousers. What shall I do with you, my lovely one?”

Hermione groaned, but not in pleasure. _We’re right back where we started_. Knowing that they were seconds away from doing something they would both regret almost instantly, she stood from his lap. “Not a thing, except dry that wet spot on your trousers. I’m going to do the same to my knickers and these robes, and then we’re going to sit side by side and avoid any and all potentially troublesome topics.” She performed a drying charm as soon as she’d finished speaking, and then sat on the edge of Lucius' desk a good foot away from him.

He had dropped his head to the back of the armchair, eyes closed in obvious frustration, but then nodded his head. Unfortunately, when he opened his eyes, they were still wild and dark. “But I _do_ like your claws, and would be disappointed if you ever submitted completely to me. I have no use for a spineless woman.” He took in her new seat of choice and leaned toward her. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about taking you on this desk?”

“Not helping, Lucius!” Hermione hopped off the desk quickly and walked around it to sit in a chair facing her wizard. “Aren’t you supposed to be the wise, responsible one that keeps me from acting out my impulses? Does the term ‘maroon and gold’ ring a bell? New subject!”

Lucius snarled. He took several deep breaths, muttering what sounded like a string of rather coarse words under each one. Finally he said, “You think that you fought clumsily today?”

This had been the most troubling of her initial thoughts. She frowned and propped her head on her arms where they lay folded along the edge of the desk. Studying the grain of the desktop closely, she replied, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have made it into the Auror program with a demonstration like that.”

Hermione could tell by the warm, amused tone of his voice that Lucius was smiling. “That is your secret aspiration, then?”

“No, of course not! That _doesn’t_ mean I’d want to be dismissed as a poor candidate.”

He chuckled. “So, despite the fact that you have no desire to be an Auror, you would wish to be considered a good prospect.” When she didn’t argue, he continued, “Such an enviable position, to be excellent at so many things, pet.”

“I’m not, though - that’s just my point! Today I did nothing to distinguish myself in terms of something as basic as self-defense. I barely defended us from Pansy’s attack, and then when I Side Alonged Draco I couldn’t even get to my wand. It’s like I forgot everything I’d ever learned,” she finished gloomily.

“Tell me what happened this morning, and come sit with me again. I promise to be a good boy,” he added with a grin.

Hermione complied, relating the events of the morning thus far as succinctly as possible. When she was done, he asked kindly, “Do you not sit here unscathed?”

Her reply, spoken into her nook, sounded uncertain even to her own ears. “Yeeeees?”

“Then it stands to reason that you defended yourself adequately in both situations.”

“Lucius, that was sheer dumb luck - something that to this point, only Harry and R-“ she sighed, the memory of a happier time ending abruptly at _his_ name, “only those two were ever accused of. I was the clever one of the trio. I’m not supposed to _need_ luck.”

Lucius traced comforting patterns over her back and said nothing for some time. Finally he said in a thoughtful way, “You hold yourself to an exacting standard, pet. By your own account you not only deflected Pansy’s attack, but you took care of Draco and stalled her fellow intruder until help arrived. That is a very satisfactory performance, in my opinion.” When she remained silent, he continued, “I can think of one particular wizard who might be secretly relieved that his ‘little witch’ did not single handedly save the day. Such a feat would be disheartening to all but the most supremely confident of wizards.”

Hermione looked up to see him regarding her tenderly. She looked across the room to her younger wizard sleeping soundly on the converted couch. _He looks like an angel_ . Lucius’ word repeated in a loop in her brain. _Ron hated that I was so clever. I don’t think Draco could ever resent me for being myself, but Lucius is right. I didn’t need to be the hero today._ “I suppose you’re right.”

He lifted an aristocratic eyebrow. “Of course I am, pet.”

Rather than take his bait, she continued quietly, “I’d be happy never to throw another hex for the rest of my life. There was enough of that for so many years . . .”

“I will happily remind you of that statement when I finally manage to set off that short fuse of yours. Verbal sparring is more to my liking.”

_And spanking._ Hermione bit her lip to contain her grin. “Are you implying that I have a quick temper, my lord?”

“There was no implication, my lady,” he deadpanned, “Your irritability is legendary.”

_I wonder what he’ll do to REALLY set me off the first time._ A lighthearted giggle escaped her at that thought. “Oh, Lucius. You have _no idea_.”

Draco was stirring again, and the small alarm sitting on the table near his head was flashing. By unspoken agreement, they rose from the desk chair and went to him. The younger Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered open as Hermione sat down beside him.

Greg came in from the rose garden and began pouring several potions into dose cups. He knelt near Draco and asked in his deep, quiet voice, “How’s the head?”

Draco sighed through his nose and closed his eyes again. “It would be fine if you’d stop shouting.” He added drowsily, “You should have breasts, Greg.”

Greg shot a concerned look at Lucius as he increased one of Draco’s potions before administering them to him. He murmured, “That’s what we needed to know. Let’s just send you back to dreamland for the rest of the morning.”

The sight of the tough-looking young guard treating her wizard in such a nurturing manner filled Hermione’s heart with tenderness. _Oh, Draco - you silly, silly snake! All of this is because you didn’t want to miss our first real date._ She thought back to that wonderful trip to Hogsmeade, and how she’d worn his scarf. _I’m going to wear it to his bed sometime. He’ll know exactly what it means._ When she broke out of her contemplations, she saw that Greg and Lucius were talking quietly a few feet away. Draco drifted off to sleep almost immediately, so after kissing his forehead several times and smoothing back his hair she joined them.

“ . . . so out of sorts,” Greg was saying, “He should be kept sedated, otherwise he’ll be climbing out of bed every chance he gets.”

Lucius nodded and squeezed the fingers Hermione wove through his own. “Stay with him today, Greg. I know he would prefer your company over anyone else’s.”

“Yes, sir.” Greg grinned. He added almost apologetically, “I’d far rather play nursemaid to an injured Draco than to have to beat the witches off a healthy one. That’s _nobody’s_ favorite assignment.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the thought of another woman putting her hands on either Draco or Lucius. “ _I’ll_ gladly take that one,” she growled, to Lucius’ obvious amusement. _Beating off witches?_ Her earliest talks with Astoria, during which her new friend had hinted at the popularity of the Malfoys, came to mind. _I suddenly have a lot of questions for Molly and Ginny._

There was a flash of light, and a spectral bear lumbered through the air to them. Gore Goyle’s low voice intoned, “All’s clear, Greg. Two Aurors are headed your way.”

A knock sounded on the door only seconds later, and Lucius went to open it, motioning for Hermione to stay with the guard. The door was barely open when Molly came barreling through, with Harry’s girls and the Delacour sisters right behind her. He raised a hand in warning and pointed to the sleeping patients. “It must remain quiet in here.”

“And quiet it shall stay,” Molly said in a stage whisper. The Weasley matriarch gave Lucius a bone-shattering hug, her eyes searching the room for something or someone. “The Aurors will be here soon, and I’ve told them they can interview Hermione last. She’ll be in her rooms with us.” When they met Hermione’s gaze, Molly promptly forgot all about the wizard in front of her and hustled across the room. “Oh, sweetheart! What’s wrong with our boy?”

It was Hermione’s turn to be crushed in those arms. “Oof!” When Molly finally stepped away and Hermione’s lungs filled with much needed air, she answered, “He hit his head on Saturday and didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary, so he said it was nothing. It would have been fine, but then this morning he got sent flying and hit it again on the stone floor.”

“Oh, that poor boy!” She tutted sympathetically. “Such a typical man.”

“Now he’s a bit loopy, but I’m not really sure if that’s from banging his head or the potions he’s taking. Greg plans to keep him sedated all day, and Lucius will have him transported to a room at the back of the manor so he can be near us.”

Molly nodded. “Well, that will certainly shorten the reception line a bit. Most of the young witches will skip it completely, I dare say.” Just then the flock of girls descended on them.

It was a perfect segue into what Hermione wanted to talk about at the moment, but before she could even open her mouth Fleur said, “Hermione, Mr. Weasley was allowed to Floo call a Ministry friend, and has secured him as an official! He will be here as soon as the wards are dropped!”

The news was like a wet blanket to Hermione’s burning questions, quickly dousing their urgency. She reviewed her knowledge of binding rituals and Fleur’s exposure to the Weasley wizards, and several points of concern came to mind. She dragged Fleur a few steps away. “Isn’t this a bit _soon_? I mean, you’ve known about them all of two days, and probably spent an hour total with them! Now you’re ready to simply bind yourself to them without even a consideration period?!”

Fleur beamed at her. “Yes, Hermione. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, and it’s what I want.”

“But you hardly know them!”

“I know that the covenant of my father’s House approves, and that the Weasley covenant desires this union as well. They’re good-hearted and handsome, and look at me with respect and admiration. Most of all, they don’t seem to notice the fact that I’m part Veela. We have the rest of our lives together to learn the rest.” She grasped Hermione’s hand and said earnestly, “This is the way of our culture.”

_Our culture_ . Her friend had said that last part in such a way that Hermione knew she herself was included in the statement. _Our culture. She’s right - it’s mine now, too. And she certainly looks ecstatic._ Still, she persisted, “Not even a _short_ consideration?”

“This, from the witch who accepted her stake without any thought whatsoever!” Fleur’s head shook back and forth firmly. “Not even a short one.” Her eyes seemed to be seeing something visible only to her, and she smiled a secret smile.

_Oh, merciful Merlin, she’s thinking about her rune ritual. Bill and Charlie and Percy . . . just . . . no. Ugh._ Out loud she said, “Well, we’d better go get you ready. I could probably look in a mirror while we’re at it.”

Molly interrupted then. “Sweetheart, where on earth is your lovely dress?”

“Errrrr, it got torn. You know, chasing intruders and all . . .” she trailed off, hoping Molly didn’t press for details. She didn’t. “Beetle is mending it.”

The Weasley Wife was obviously surprised. “Did you say _Beetle_ has it? Merciful Merlin, she’s still around . . .” she looked over to where the elder Malfoy was talking to Greg Goyle. “Who would ever have thought that wizard would be such a softie about anything, let alone house elves!”

Hermione smiled in a warning sort of way. “Don’t make me Obliviate you.” _Because I would. I’d do anything for my wizards._

Molly waved away the remark but the expression in her eyes was one of understanding. “Say goodbye to Lucius, and we’ll go finish what we started before this day turned into a game of Exploding Snap.”

“Hold that thought.” Hermione turned to Ginny and caught her eye, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. Ginny patted a pocket in her robes and beckoned her over. When Hermione reached her friend, she whispered, “I was going to give the pictures as a set to both Lucius and Draco, but that plan’s gone out the window. Instead, I’ll give Lucius one now and another each time we check on Draco during the reception. What do you think?”

Ginny chewed on the side of her mouth and stared off into space as she weighed Hermione’s decision. “That’ll work, although I would have loved to be a fly on the wall if you’d been able to do it the way you’d originally planned. Oh! Bowly wrapped them for me while we’ve been in the great hall. Which one do you want first?”

“I have no idea! You’re the creative mastermind; what do _you_ think?” The curly-haired witch hissed in mild frustration.

The redhead sighed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Hermione. What are you, five? Fine, I’ll make up your mind for you.” She looked through a handful of miniature gifts wrapped in familiar, dark green paper. Closer examination showed that each one had a tag identifying which picture it was. Ginny selected one and tore off the tag. “Give him this one first.” At Hermione’s questioning look, she elaborated sotto voce, “It’s the ballroom one.”

“Excellent. Errrrr, hang on to the others for me, will you? And keep everyone away for a moment.” As soon as Ginny began bossing the other witches around, Hermione hurried to Lucius’ side and tried tugging him toward the French windows.

In his typical way, he took control of the situation by threading her arm through his and leading her there in a dignified fashion. When they reached one of the open doorways, she paused. “We don’t need to go outside, Lucius. I just wanted to give you something before I go with Molly.” _And the rest of the Weasley circus._ She hadn’t looked up at him yet, and now a wave of nerves passed over her. _What if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s too tame for his tastes?_

Lucius tipped her chin upward with one strong finger and asked gently, “Whatever could have you feeling timid, pet?”

She leaned against him, soaking up his confidence, until she was able to reply, “I have something for you; or the first part of it, at least. I’ve decided to give you my gift in installments.” Hermione tapped her wand on the miniature box in her palm, muttering a quiet Engorgio, and then handed the restored present to her wizard.

There were wide, shallow stone steps leading from the entrance of the study down to the rose garden, and Lucius guided her to sit with him there. The gold roses bloomed before them in all their hypnotic glory, and Hermione realized she would have to keep her eyes on her husband-to-be in order to avoid them. She shifted so that she was angled toward him and watched him unwrap the large flat rectangle. Lucius’ long fingers made quick work of the paper and Spell-O Tape, and within the space of a breath he was looking down at the large print of Hermione climbing the grand staircase of the ballroom, her lavish gown unlaced and trailing low on her back as she glanced over her shoulder into the camera’s lens. She watched him look at her image, watched her image look up at him with that secret, almost sultry smile and hold the front of her dress to her half-revealed breasts. The chandeliers of the ballroom cast intimate light over the equally intimate scene, and Hermione willed him to like it. She held her breath when he said nothing, but simply traced a forefinger over the glass-covered image repeatedly. Finally she whispered, “Do you like it?”

“ _Like_ it?” Lucius drawled, skewering her with an intense look. “Does a man _like_ to gaze at the object of his desire?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t _like_ it at all.” Her heart dropped, but he was still speaking. “I _love_ it. I _need_ it.” He returned his gaze to the picture and traced his finger over her form again. “It is the most perfect gift I can imagine receiving.” She blushed with pleasure, gratified by the fact that he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off the gift. When he did, his expression was both wild and reverent. He stood and pulled her to her feet, then down the steps and away from the French windows. “Thank you.”

“You’re-” He swallowed the rest of her reply, moving his lips against hers worshipfully. Their arms wound around each other and they remained close after the kiss ended.

Finally Lucius spoke into her hair. “Go, before I decide to steal you away.” He pulled back and gestured further into the garden “Please tell Greg to summon me when the Aurors arrive. I have a sudden need to commit this picture to memory.” When she turned to leave he added, “I eagerly await the next installment, Hermione.”

She floated back into the study, her mind still with Lucius in the rose garden as she spoke with Greg and then joined the gaggle of witches. Fleur gave her a condescending smile, but Hermione couldn’t find it within her to be irritated. In fact, she returned the look with a goofy grin devoid of any sentiment other than sheer happiness and didn’t complain when the Frenchwoman still insisted on Side Along Apparition. The group left for her suite almost immediately.

As soon as the short bout of dizziness passed, she was gratified to see Molly launch into her bullying prep routine with Fleur and herd her towards the bathroom. Gabi followed, teasing her older sister the entire time. Hermione smirked, knowing that a pre-ritual bath was in order and remembering how much Molly enjoyed washing hair. Gabi was sure to run commentary on the entire process. The day was getting better by the minute! She hoped her chaperone got at least one mouthful of bathwater.

Her attention was drawn by a subtle shift in her environment. Something felt different, and Hermione catalogued the condition of the outer room with surprise. “How is this possible?” She walked slowly to where there had been a large hole not so long ago. She ran her hand over the perfectly restored wall.

Luna spoke from directly behind her, causing Hermione to nearly jump out of her skin. “Ginny and I set it to rights while you were with Lucius and Draco, although I expect we had help from the manor itself.” The curly-haired witch opened her mouth to question that ridiculous statement, and Luna added, “It’s all these Ley lines; I can feel them. Oh, and I think there’s a localized infestation of thrushmunchers.” She beamed in that slightly mad way of hers. “I do hope you’re wearing my gift, seeing as it’s the full moon.”

Hermione blinked several times, stripped of speech. At last she ventured, “Errrrr, the wall looks great.” She was saved at this point by the _crack_ of Apparition. Turning around she found Beetle standing expectantly, reception gown in hand. With a feeling of immense relief and gratitude toward the wizened elf for the interruption, she said, “Oh, thank you, Beetle!”

She reached out to take the garment, but Beetle held up one finger commandingly. “Beetle knows many wizard customs. Lady’s reception dress _will_ stay on and will _not_ be ripped again.”

Hermione blushed. “Of cour-”

The finger wagged furiously, and was now paired with a narrow-eyed glare. “This will be so because Beetle has sealed the seams and will now seal _Lady_ into the dress.”

_Sweet Circe, Lucius is completely justified in being terrified of her._ She nodded frantically. “Yes, Beetle.” At a very clear wordless command, Hermione stripped out of her borrowed robes and reached for the gown, telling herself all the while that undressing in front of the house elf was no different than doing the same with a seamstress.

Meanwhile Luna kept up a running commentary on Hermione’s shields and choice of knickers. “Such detail, and if you get up really close, you can see the outer edge of the filigree is actually a snake, ‘Mione!” She had stooped to peer closely at one shield, and Hermione was only able to keep from shoving her away after tapping into heretofore unknown reserves of tolerance and tranquility.

Living most of the last eight years in a girls’ dorm had desensitized the curly-haired witch to the varying states of female nudity common in such a familiar environment, and she’d even grown fond of sharing the pool-sized prefects’ bath with Ginny. However Luna Lovegood took such intimacy to uncharted places. Ginny had invited her to one of their shared baths just once, after which Hermione had threatened to drop out of Hogwarts if there was ever even a hint of a recurrence. Now she took a deep cleansing breath and gently steered Luna far enough away that she could no longer feel her friend’s breath on her nipple. “Yes, and you’re welcome to look at them any time I’m _not wearing them_. Now help me get this dress over my head, please.”

Seconds later, Hermione realized that Beetle hadn’t been joking. The house elf sealed the gown‘s zipper magically and said in a satisfied tone, “Beetle will release the charm after the reception. If Master asks, tell him his naughtiness has worn out Beetle and she is napping.” She bowed stiffly and then Disapparated with a _crack_ that somehow sounded tired.

The curly-haired witch found herself alone again with Luna and thought quickly. “Oh, look! Gin’s out on the balcony. Let’s go join her.” She fled without waiting for a reply, although Luna didn’t follow. A glance behind showed that she had climbed up on the big bed and was jumping enthusiastically in the middle of it.

When she reached Ginny’s side and looked down at the grounds, she found herself once again unable to make a coherent sound. Below her the proof of Molly Weasley’s hard work and brilliance stretched as far as she could see. In the fields below the formal garden were dozens of large marquee tents, whose gauzy curtains were gathered at the corners to show decorated tables and chairs within. The tents were strung with high-flying banners of deep green that flapped gaily in the wind, and it looked as though they were lit from within by fairy lights. Near the river, a large area had been raised several feet in the air for a dance floor of sorts; the nearest bridge looked as though it had been transformed into a stage.

It all paled in comparison to the formal garden, though, where almost every species of Lucius’ roses ran rampant in riotous glory. They had invaded every inch of soil, wrapped themselves around the balcony as well as the staircase leading to the fields below, and climbed the side of the manor clear up to her suite at the top of the house. Hermione reached a hand through the balusters to brush her fingers against the nearest bloom. _How could this have happened in a few short hours?_ _Although honestly I haven’t so much as looked outside since yesterday . . . regardless, I’m sure if I ask, the answer will involve Ley lines._ She shook her head. It was just another tantalizing research opportunity that would have to wait a while longer.

It was difficult to see anything in much detail from this height, but Hermione realized that the roses followed a pattern of sorts that seemed to snake through the garden. She turned to Ginny. “Is that a . . . rose queue?”

The redhead nodded. “Don’t tell Mum I said it, but that idea was positively ingenious. She and Lucius started it early in the week, and put everyone to work on layering the final charms early this morning. Look.” Ginny traced the path of the queue through the air with her wand. “The guests will enter the formal garden and queue up to meet you, and you and your wizards will stand _there_ and receive them,” she pointed to a spot close to the back of the house. “You were originally supposed to be in the dead center of the garden, but Mum changed that the moment she found out about Draco. Now you’ll be able to just turn around and slip into the manor.”

“That’s where I’m going to spend the next eight hours,” Hermione mused thoughtfully.

“Not really. You’ll take breaks to see Draco - his injury and absence are going to send the reporters into ecstasy, by the way - and I’m sure you and Lucius will do a fair bit of wandering around the grounds. Wait until you see the front drive,” Ginny answered with a pleased smile.

“This must be the most lavish, most beautiful reception . . . _ever._ ” _Molly has done so much for me; I wish there were some way to repay-_ The thought fragmented as she remembered Draco’s words at the wedding shower. “Ginny, has Draco said anything about the trip he promised your parents to that resort in Mumbai?”

Her response included a dramatic eye roll. “Do _not_ speak of that. Yes, it’s all set and they leave tonight as soon as the full moon ritual has been completed. Their luggage was sent by portkey when we got here. And it’s _all_ they’ve talked about since Wednesday morning!” Ginny’s expression became one of pathetic longsuffering. “It’s bad enough knowing your parents still break the bed regularly, along with other appalling acts, but when they _talk_ about it . . . ‘Mione, _it’s not right_ . I’m just glad we decided to move into Grimmauld straight away, without all that traditional nonsense of living separately before the wedding. I might have died from the _horror_.”

Hermione was still thinking about the fact that Draco had done such a thoughtful thing for the Weasleys. _I’m so glad he followed through with his promise. Not that he wouldn’t - Draco is very thorough. He really is a superior wizard._ Processing the rest of Ginny’s rapid-fire speech, she argued, “I don’t know, Gin. Don’t you still want to be performing depraved acts with Harry and Luna when you’re their age?” Her mind had immediately jumped to a future where she and her wizards were still stealing moments together despite the world around them. _I want to be like Molly and Arthur someday._

Ginny dismissed the argument with a laugh. “Of course, but that’s different!”

“Do you think that’s how your children will see it?” the curly-haired witch asked with a smirk and a raised an eyebrow.

Ginny groaned. “Now you’ve gone and given me perspective, which is something I could have done without! And stop channeling Lucius - you’re already smug enough.” When Hermione refused to stop gloating, the redhead hissed, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my _mother’s company_ is preferable to you right now.” The two girls burst out laughing at the same moment.

“How will I manage to keep myself busy while you’re honeymooning?” Ginny asked fondly. “And who will dress you and tell you what to do?”

Hermione wrapped an arm around her best friend’s shoulder and guided her back into the bedroom. “Honestly, Ginny, I might just have some of that figured out by then.”


	71. Friday Noon-ish

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha writer/Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday Noon-ish

Hermione took as deep a breath as she was able to manage in the slim-fitting, high-waisted reception dress and peeked out the window drapes into the formal garden.  _ I can do this. _ People had begun arriving several minutes ago, as evidenced by the rapidly filling queue. Needing an escape from impending reality, she let her thoughts wander backward.

******

_ The Aurors came and interviewed Hermione, who was surprised both to be deferentially addressed as ‘Lady’ and at the level of respect the title seemed to command. Shortly after, Molly had declared Fleur fit for her binding ceremony and left to oversee the reception opening, inviting Gabi to go along with her. The young girl happily agreed. The four remaining witches had stayed to talk in Hermione’s suite until the last possible second.  _

_ Fleur absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the white ceremonial robes she wore, packed by her mother and sent along with her sister. Ginny asked, “Don’t you need a chaperone today?” _

_ “My father has generously offered to serve as my proxy chaperone until one has been secured,” Fleur said, her matter-of-fact tone tempered with happiness. _

_ Hermione bit back a smirk, wondering how the Weasley wizards would feel about that. She could just imagine their frustration when Reynard Delacour thwarted their every advance on his daughter. “You deserve that, Fleur,” she offered with a straight face. Something that had been niggling at the back of her brain made it to the front just then, and she asked, “What about your mother?” _

_ Fleur’s beautiful face frowned in confusion. “What about her?” _

_ “Well, doesn’t she want to meet the Weasleys and see you before your ceremony?” _

_ Comprehension dawned on her friend’s face, and she explained in her pragmatic way, “My mother is a recluse, as many half-Veelas are, and rarely leaves our home. My father sends owls often, and she has been involved in this process at every point. And as far as I am concerned, she is with me in the best of ways: here.” She tapped her chest. Hermione knew her face was awash with sympathy, but Fleur waved a dismissive hand. “Save your pity for someone who needs it, Hermione. I have a mother, and she loves me. She simply cannot always be near me.” _

******

There was a series of quiet thumps as Greg Goyle set down his Mediwizard kit on a side table and set about measuring Draco’s next set of potions. Her younger wizard had been moved to this large room at the back of the manor whilst she’d been in her suite, and a bed had been brought here for him. He lay sleeping quietly, his skin in pale contrast to the dark green silk bedding. Hermione sneaked a peek back out at the crowd waiting patiently, like ticketholders in line to enter a Muggle circus freak show.  _ I’m a Gryffindor, for Circe’s sake. _ Hermione turned back to her thoughts.

******

_ Luna had piped up in a dreamy voice, “And where will you stay during your courtship?” _

_ “I will return home with my father when I have completed my duties to you. It’s the most practical solution. After all, it would hardly be respectable to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy has said he will arrange for a set of Portkeys so that he and his brothers may travel back and forth freely.” _

_ “What do you mean, ‘it would hardly be respectable’? I’ve been staying at Malfoy Manor for days,” argued Hermione. _

_ “Yes, but you are an orphan. Staying with your future husbands is traditional, provided you have a conscientious chaperone,” said Fleur in her most maddening older-sister manner. “I made sure that you were never left alone in a compromising situation.” _

_ Hermione couldn’t help that snicker that escaped. “I’m going to remind you that you said that later today.” _

_ “What is that supposed to mean?” A hint of suspicion had crept into Fleur’s voice. There was a knock on the outer door, and she kept her eyes on Hermione as she went to see who it was. _

_ “You’ll see,” sang Hermione. She stuck her tongue out for good measure. _

_ Fleur opened the suite doors and looked over her shoulder with a look of flushed excitement. “It’s time for me to go,” she called softly. “My father is here!” _

_ Hermione crossed the room and hugged the beautiful blonde witch fiercely. They shared a look of understanding, and for a few seconds she couldn’t think of what to say. “We’re going to be relatives, you know.” _

_ Fleur’s breathing was hitched, as if she’d just run up a long flight of stairs, and her eyes were bright. “Our children will grow up together.” She turned as if to leave and then asked in a hurried whisper, “Be honest. The marking - does it hurt?” _

_ Hermione smirked evilly. “I seem to remember you not wanting to be told anything.” When her chaperone’s expression morphed into one of pleading, she relented and shook her head. “Not in the least.” _

_ Ginny and Luna joined them then, and the redhead shared a brief hug with her future sister in-law. “I’ll deny ever having said this, of course, but Bill, Charlie, and Percy are wonderful men. I know you’ll be very happy with them.”  _

_ Luna gave the Frenchwoman a pleasant smile that was just to the left of completely sane. “I dreamed about your marking ritual. It was extremely erotic.” _

_ In an uncharacteristically gentle gesture, Fleur kissed Luna’s cheek. “Then it will be so, because Draco has told me that you are a seer. Thank you.” She glanced happily at the three witches. “Until this afternoon, my friends.” And in a graceful flurry of traditional white robes, she was gone. _

_ Those last two words lingered in Hermione’s ears as she watched Harry’s girls begin changing into the finery they’d brought to wear to the reception. ‘We’re her first friends,’ she thought, once again struck by the magnitude of the statement. She watched her best friend shuck off her sundress and slip into a flattering gown of pale green. “Wow, Gin. That’s lovely.” _

_ “Of course it is.” Ginny looked over with a smirk. “Ten Galleons says Fleur gets marked in more than one way.” At Hermione’s expression of confusion she added, “What? It’s the full moon, and she’s binding with a latent lycanthrope. I bet Bill sinks his teeth into that pretty white neck of hers.” _

_ “He wouldn’t!” At Ginny’s skeptical look, Hermione’s confidence in that statement faltered. “He would? Sweet Circe . . .” For some reason the idea of Bill biting Fleur struck her as mildly hilarious, and she began giggling. “Oh, poor Fleur!” She wheezed the words out when she caught her breath, only to set off another set of giggles. _

_ Ginny snickered, “It’s a good thing their wedding ceremony won’t be a full moon ritual. Can you even imagine what their first time would be like?” She tipped her head up at a funny angle and gave a comic wolfish howl. _

_ No, Hermione couldn’t, and she had no desire to do so. “Ugh. We’re talking about your brother, Gin, whom I also consider to be one. That’s just . . . ugh!” It was time to change the subject. She turned to Luna, who had donned a violently yellow gown and was now clipping sunflowers in her hair. “Luna, you look . . . very unique.” _

_ The dreamy-eyed blonde beamed absently. “Thank you, ‘Mione! That’s just the look I was going for. I hope you won’t mind, but I think I’ll head downstairs and look for Harry. I’m suddenly in the mood for-” _

_ She was interrupted by Ginny, who said sternly, “What did I tell you, Lu?” _

_ Luna gave a little moan. “That Harry’s tired and needs a break. But Gin, I want-” _

_ Ginny swatted Luna’s backside, effectively silencing her again. “Not about that! What did I say about polite conversational topics? And no, you may not leave.” _

_ “Ooh! Don’t tease, Gin!” At an admonishing look from the redhead, she added in a docile tone, “That sex isn’t one of them.” She glanced at Hermione. “I’m sorry. I just really miss . . . HARRY right now. Was that better, Gin?” She looked pleased at Ginny’s nod regardless of the fact that it was accompanied by a roll of her eyes. _

_ “Don’t mention it, Luna,” Hermione offered sympathetically. She knew exactly how Luna felt, even though her own verbal filter was intact.  _

******

Greg was gently nudging Draco, and Hermione left her spot at the window to help. She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over his pillow. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Time for more potions.”

Draco made an adorable moue of annoyance at being woken. “Mmmm-mmmm.”

Hermione ran her fingers through his soft, pale hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Draco, if you wake up, I’ll give you a present.”

He sighed and opened his eyes, quickly squeezing them shut again. “Too bright.” Greg extinguished the nearest source of light, a giant candelabrum that sat on the bedside table, and Draco tried again. “Thank you.” He looked up at Hermione with confused, slightly unfocused eyes. “Is it already our wedding night? Why are you still dressed?”

******

_ It was nearly time to head downstairs. Hermione took one last look in the looking glass and turned again to Ginny.  _ _ “And you’re sure there’s no special protocol I’m supposed to know and follow for the next eight hours,” she stated again uncertainly. _ _ She glanced at Luna, who seemed to be performing one of her protective spells over in one corner, adding, “Because if you slap my bum like you just did Luna’s at any point during the reception, I’ll hex you six ways from Sunday.” _

_ Ginny huffed and struck a defensive pose, a hand on one jutting hip. “Exactly how many Pure-blood receptions have you attended? None? Really, because this is my . . . well, I haven’t exactly saved programs and kept count, but I’ve been to more than my share!” At Hermione’s expectant look, she continued with a derisive shake of her head, “Honestly, ‘Mione, you stay with your wizards, you smile, you make pleasant small talk - that’s it. The rest is up to you.” _

_ “That’s what I need know: the rest of it!” she growled. _

_ Ginny looked as though she was arguing with herself internally. Finally she said, “Well, since you asked . . . you might want to work on hiding your impatience with people in general. I know it’s hard for you, being the cleverest witch of the age and all, but you still have to be nice to the common people.” _

_ “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and her arms came up to cross over her chest. _

_ “Oh, like you don’t know how irritable you can be when you doubt someone’s intelligence,” Ginny replied with a smirk. _

_ Hermione’s eyebrows hiked up into her hairline. “I’m very patient with people less intellectually fortunate than me!” _

_ “You happen to have the lowest tolerance for idiocy of anyone I’ve ever met, with the exception of Professor Snape. Merlin rest his soul.”  _

_ “Merlin rest his soul,” Hermione intoned automatically. Then she realized what her friend had just said. “What?! How can you say that?!” _

_ Ginny’s expression was incredulous. “When have you ever refrained from sharing your opinion of someone’s shortcomings?” _

_ “I am incredibly patient,” Hermione muttered. “For your information, I haven’t been the slightest bit irritable with anyone other than you or Fleur for the past three weeks. And you two don’t count.”  _

_ Ginny blinked several times and said slowly, “That’s because you haven’t talked with anyone else outside of Lucius and Draco, and they’re easily on your level. Obviously Fleur and I don’t count because we’re smarter than you.” At Hermione’s choked noise of shock, she added, “Oh, please - you can barely tie your own shoes.” They shared a brief grin, but Ginny wasn’t done. “Today you’ll be expected to listen and smile politely regardless of who’s talking or what they’re saying. You need to follow Lucius’ lead.” _

_ “I can do that easily!” _

_ The redhead sighed wearily. “Alright, I can see you need a list of prohibited behavior. Are you ready? Number one: no opinions of any kind. At all. Number two: do not correct anyone. At all. Number three: do not spout facts. At-_ _

_ “Yes, yes - ‘at all’. I get it!”  _

_ “Hermione,” Ginny said earnestly, taking hold of her shoulders and shaking them gently, “You asked for help, and I’m giving it to you. Now, unless you intend to alienate major Ministry officials, Malfoy business associates, the other Houses, or - heaven forbid - the reporters, I suggest you listen!” _

_ Ginny’s voice went on after that part but Hermione heard none of it, so focused was she on what had just been said. “Oh, sweet Merlin. You’re saying I’m going to utterly embarrass Lucius today.” _

******

Greg offered to wait outside the room, saying the potions would keep for another fifteen minutes or so, and left. Hermione pressed a kiss to Draco’s beautiful mouth. “No, the reception hasn’t even started. How are you feeling?”

“Is this another dream?” He closed his eyes and smiled. “Because I keep having the most vivid dreams. Hmmmmm. Are you sure it’s not our wedding night? I could have sworn you were just screaming my name in pleasure.”

“I think that’s the potions talking.” She breathed a quiet laugh. “Or the fact that you’ve damaged that handsome brain of yours.”

Draco opened his eyes. They were a washed out grey at the moment, as tired-looking as the rest of him. “You said I could have  _ a _ present. Does that mean you have more than one for me?”  _ Oh, thank Circe. His short-term memory and reasoning skills haven’t been impaired.  _ She was just going to answer when he whispered, “I can see Luna’s narleywickets. They’re  _ everywhere _ .”

Hermione groaned internally.  _ But he’s delusional. _ “That’s wonderful, Draco. Maybe you’d like to wait for your present. I could give it to you after you have another nap.”  _ Is he pouting? He is! I’ll bet he was the sweetest little boy . . . _ She shook her head to clear it of that distracting thought.

He reasoned, “If this were a dream, you wouldn’t be wearing clothes and I wouldn’t have this painful hard-on. On the other hand, if this were real life, you’d never have offered me a present and then taken it back.” He grimaced. “Thinking makes my head hurt.”

Hermione swung her legs up so she could lie beside him on the bed. She cradled his head in her arms so that he lay once more with his face between her breasts. “Well, my clothes are on, and I’m going to give you a present. By your own logic, that means this isn’t a dream.”

“That’s half a shame,” he murmured into the delicate fabric of her bodice. “Because my cock aches like a motherfucker.”

She couldn’t help it - she simply could  _ not _ contain the burble of laughter that rose from deep within her and escaped noisily.  _ He’s hilarious! This must be how Harry feels about Luna’s lack of verbal filter all the time.  _ Glancing at the nearest timepiece and seeing that Greg would be gone for another thirteen minutes, she whispered conspiratorially, “If you promise to be very quiet, I’ll help you with that.”

“I really hope this isn’t another dream, Hermione.” His voice was muffled, his mouth pressed as it was to her breast. “Although I wouldn’t mind if you were naked.”

******

_ Ginny had rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of magic. I never said that!” She sighed heavily. “You’re not going to embarrass anyone as long as you remember that today is about being introduced to the wizarding world as Wife to the House of Malfoy. Think about it this way: it’s your big chance to make Lucius and Draco look good. They chose you as their Wife; people want to see what makes you so alluring to them. Be yourself - you’re clever and funny, and you’re very likeable when you hold back on the impatient know-it-all routine. I know, because I saw you do it once.” _

_ “Errrrr, when was that?” Hermione had swung to the opposite end of the self-confidence spectrum in a matter of seconds and was now analyzing her social skills. ‘She’s right,’ she thought, ‘I’m completely impatient with people I find lacking in the brains department.’  _

_ “When you went to the Yule Ball with Viktor, of course,” Ginny replied, as though that answer was obvious. “Regardless of the fact that you two had nothing in common other than both being attractive and socially inept, you charmed his socks off for the entire evening.” _

_ “I did, didn’t I,” mused Hermione. She thought back to that evening so many years ago with a smile. It had been a matter of sheer determination on her part, but she’d succeeded in swallowing down any and all irritation for several hours. “I focused on the positive: he had nice eyes and was a good dancer. OH. I see.” _

_ Ginny pretended to wipe tears from her eyes. “As much as it pains me to admit this, my awkward little swot is all grown up.” _

_ Hermione gently punched Ginny’s arm, which, to a girl with six brothers, was the equivalent of a hug. “And for the record, I know how to tie my shoes.” _

_ “You’re going to take our world by storm, ‘Mione,” she said softly, a hint of real tears in her eyes. “I’m proud to be your friend.” _

_ Now Hermione  _ did _ hug her best friend. “When I’m photographed for the society pages, I’ll be sure to admit that you dress me on a daily basis.” _

_ Ginny snorted softly. “Don’t forget to tell them I make up your mind for you as well.” _

_ “Well, you can tell them that. After all, it’ll be hard to get a photograph of me without you. You’re a bit clingy. Hand me my lip gloss, will you please?” _

_ “Yes, yes - I tolerate you, you tolerate me. We’ll be enduring each other’s company for the rest of our lives. Time to go. Here, take the rest of your pictures.” Ginny passed off the shrunken packages and the requested item with a warm smile and turned to the blonde dancing and chanting nearby. “Come on, Lu. Let’s get ‘Mione to her wizards.” _

******

Hermione slid off the bed, despite Draco’s protests. From the foot of it she retrieved her handbag and dug through it until she found the framed print she’d chosen to give him first. She returned it to its original size and handed the large rectangle to him. “Happy wedding day, Draco.”

He gave her a loopy grin. “How did you manage to wrap up a hand-job?”

“Oh, Draco!” Another happy laugh escaped her, and she dipped to press another kiss to his mouth. “We’re definitely going to have to hide you until you get your filter back.” Hermione directed his attention to the package. “You unwrap  _ this _ , and I’ll unwrap  _ you _ .” She slid her free hand under his duvet. He took the present from her and began tearing the paper, but paused with a groan when her fingers trailed along his trousered thigh.  _ He really is adorable.  _ She stopped and said as sternly as she could manage, “I’m not going to touch you unless you unwrap your gift.”

Draco ripped the rest of the paper off in one obedient movement, and then looked at her expectantly. If Hermione hadn’t been so amused by his altered state of mind she would have been disappointed at his apparent disinterest in her present. As it was she had to remind herself that this wasn’t really Draco, and when he was feeling better she could give each picture to him all over again. She ran her hand up over the soft wool of his trousers until she came to his belt, which she quickly unfastened. The button and zipper were next to be undone, and then she was untucking his shirt and slipping her hand into his boxers. She had done this only the one time before, but a wave of ownership washed over her as her fingers brushed against his soft, warm skin. Already it felt right.  _ He’s mine, and I’m his. And yet I’m still blushing. _

He held her gaze from under heavy eyelids and groaned deeply when her fingers closed around his erection. “Nnnngh.” He flung back the covers. “I want to watch.”

“Absolutely not!” Hermione practically yanked the covers back up in panic. “Greg could come in at any moment, Draco. Now, are you going to behave, or do I have to stop?” She moved her hand along his hard shaft, stroking her thumb along the little ridge that Lucius had pointed out only the night before. “Look at what’s in your hand, Draco. Do you see what I gave you?” He made an incoherent sound and thrust into her grip. With her free hand, Hermione took the framed print from him and held it up in front of his glazed eyes. “It’s a picture of me in that beautiful bed.” 

She ran her thumb over the tip of him and spread the leaking fluid around. Lucius had wanted her to wet his flesh last night, and Hermione hesitated only a second before removing her hand long enough to lick it palm to fingertips. She returned to her previous ministrations, much to his loud approval and increased hip thrusts. “Hermione . . . so good . . .  _ Circe _ !” One of his hands worked its way under the covers and closed around hers for a moment, guiding her movements. “Faster,” he croaked.

She complied with his directions, noting with satisfaction that his hand fell away almost immediately.  _ Good thing I’m a quick study.  _ “Look at the picture, my love. I’m in my bed without a stitch of clothes on, waiting for you. Can you see?” Inwardly she congratulated Ginny’s decision to pull her knickers down out of sight for the shot.

His eyes flicked to the picture, and it was as though he just now realized what it was he was looking at. “ _ Circe’s left tit _ . That’s you, and you’re naked in that bed. Merlin, that feels . . . Ohhhhhhhh.” His voice trailed off in a moan. 

Hermione looked down at her younger wizard, confidence zinging through her system. Every word, every movement, every bead of sweat that now stood out on his face confirmed that he was aroused by her and that she was bringing him pleasure. She drew her hand out from under the bedding and re-wet it with another long lick. Even that gesture seemed to please Draco. Struck with a sudden idea, she murmured, “I had a dream last night about this picture, Draco. We were at the Yule Ball together, and when we were done dancing you took me back to your room.” Her imagination supplied the fantasy all too willingly, and she felt her own body responding to it.

Draco groaned louder. His eyes were glued on the print. Now he ground out between hip thrusts, “I . . . same dream. Nnnngh. You took it off . . . so slowly. Mmmmm. I made you mine . . . you cried my name. Oh, like that. Fuck, Hermione.” With a few more synchronized movements of his hips and her hand, he came with another loud groan.

Hermione quickly cleaned him up with a Scourgify, but not until she’d licked some of his fluid from her fingertip. He watched her in hazy fascination and caught her hand before she could clean it. “Do that again.”

“What, this?” She ran her tongue up her forefinger where a stream of ejaculate trailed down.

Draco grinned sleepily. “My Wife swallows.”

Hermione snorted indelicately at that. She cleaned her hand. “My husband knocks his head into hard surfaces.”

“I shouldn’t be so crass around you, but whatever I think just seems to come out of my mouth. May I blame it on my current condition?” He looked up at her hopefully. 

She grinned and nodded. “I love your beautiful manners, but I also like when you just say what you’re thinking. You should never apologize for that.”  _ I like filthy-mouthed Draco. _

He gave a contented hum. “In that case, you should know I spend most of my time thinking about having sex with you.”

Draco took his potions, and he spent their remaining few minutes together staring at the picture and making increasingly coarse remarks. Then he fell into another deep sleep, the frame clutched tightly in his hands. There was a warning knock on the door and it opened a few inches. Greg called out, “Okay to enter?”

“Come in, Greg. He’s just fallen back to sleep.” Hermione stood from where she’d been sitting on the edge of the bed and rolled her stiff shoulders. When the young guard crossed the room to check on Draco, she asked hesitantly, “When do you suppose he’ll stop blurting whatever he’s thinking?” A mental image of him verbally regurgitating to Greg what had just happened came to mind, and she winced.

Greg pursed his lips and frowned thoughtfully. “The pain potion is the cause of that, for the most part. His concussion is giving him a huge headache, and we’re treating that as well as mending the actual damage. The fact that he only complained about the light this time shows improvement. We’ll start weaning him off the pain potion soon.”

The encouraging words brought a smile to her lips. “You’re a handy friend to have.”

The dark-haired wizard actually blushed, which further endeared him to Hermione. “The Goyles have been Healers for as long as anyone can remember.”

“Tell me more,” she urged, intrigued. 

“I’ll sit for my exams in two years, and then I won’t have to work under my dad’s supervision as much.” He blushed again and turned to his Mediwizard kit, packing it up. “There’s nothing more to tell.”

It was obvious Greg wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and so Hermione was left on her own for a few minutes. She took the opportunity to gloss her lips and take up her previous place at the curtained window. Just as she was about to peep out again, the door opened and Lucius entered. He called softly, “Where is my prize?” 

Hermione hadn’t yet seen her elder wizard look anything less than elegantly turned out and supremely confident. Now, though, he seemed to have transcended his normal levels of these qualities. She drank in his appearance from head to toe, memorizing the way he looked in that moment. He leaned against the doorframe gracefully, somehow appearing even taller and more broad-shouldered than usual. Robes of the deepest blue velvet covered a crisp white shirt and peacock blue waistcoat, and the neatly corded queue of his pale hair fell over his shoulder in shining contrast. His mouth was curled in a smirk, and his pale eyes twinkled in the dimly lit room.

Done with her quick perusal, she flew to his outstretched arms and stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. She looked at his face intently, wondering what was different, until he raised an eyebrow and murmured, “What is it, pet?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a slight frown, “but you seem taller. And even  _ more _ confident. Have you used some sort of charm?”

“Certainly not.” He chuckled and stooped to lean his forehead against hers. “I’m sure it is because I am about to introduce my beautiful Wife-to-be to the world.”

His breath moved against her lips, and she was so caught in the sensation that she almost missed his words. _ It’s because he’s so happy. It’s made him larger than life.  _ “That could be it.” She brushed a hand over one velvet lapel, tracing the serpent embroidered there in silver thread, and shivered in nervous anticipation. “Is it time?”

“Not quite yet,” he murmured. He grasped her chin in one large hand and held her face immobile while his glowing eyes swept over it. “I’m going to kiss you first.” Then Lucius did just that, moving his mouth against hers until Hermione sagged against his chest and forgot about everything but the sensations of his lips and tongue. When he pulled away, she tried to remember how to breathe. His eyes catalogued her features once again, and he said in a satisfied tone, “Now it’s time. Come along, pet.”

Hermione pressed her nose against the front of his shirt, filling her lungs with the heavy masculine scent that she had come to associate with confidence, lust, and love.  _ I’m a Gryffindor; I can do this.  _ She stepped back, comforted by the fact that the fragrance of her war stake now lingered on her.  _ It’s just a very large crowd of people. _ Looking up, she saw that the faint pink gloss she’d had on her lips was now staining those of her wizard.  _ They’re only here to gawk. That’s fairly innocuous. _ The curly-haired witch wiped the makeup from Lucius’ mouth with her thumb.  _ Rub, rub, rub _ . When his eyes darkened she was struck with the realization that she had turned his own game on him, and it caused her to smirk. He twinkled down at her, murmuring, “Well played, pet. Now fix your pretty lips, and we’ll be off.”

Ginny’s advice came to mind.  _ Find something positive about each person I meet, and refrain from opinion-based conversation. Lucius Malfoy looks edible even when wearing lip gloss. That is most definitely a positive thing and not an opinion at all.  _ Hermione crossed the room once more to Draco’s bed and hunted through her handbag for the required item. As she glossed her kiss-swollen lips, her eyes fell to where her younger wizard lay in deep slumber. She walked the few steps to the head of the bed and ran her hand through his soft, pale hair once more before returning to Lucius, who now looked downright impatient. 

He offered her his arm and led her out into the corridor, where Gore and another large guard (who was surely another of his relatives) stood and exchanged a silent signal with the elder Malfoy. The two wizards fell in step a few paces behind them. When they had nearly reached the massive doors leading out to the formal garden Lucius said, “The first order of business will be to issue a statement to the press regarding Draco.”

The door loomed just ahead and through it she thought she could make out the chatter of a large crowd. She dug in her heels and looked up at him in panic. “I need a minute.”

He raised an elegant eyebrow and continued to propel her toward that ominous door. “Surely you aren’t nervous, pet.”

Hermione leaned back, resisting his forward motion.  _ It’s time to be honest _ . “I’m a little concerned about embarrassing you and bringing shame to the House of Malfoy,” she joked, although her tone was dismal.

“Impossible.” Lucius was grinning down at her, obviously amused. “I am incapable of that emotion.” He leaned down further to murmur in her ear, “Besides, a witch as beautiful and of such incomparable wit and intellect as you hardly has reason to worry. Come.”

“I’m quite serious, Lucius!” She pulled against his grip on her arm, successfully halting his larger, heavier form. 

He paused yet again at her urging, looking down at her in concern. Her eyes must have reflected the angst within her, because Lucius leaned down to cup her cheek. “Who has filled you with such needless concern, pet?” He gave her the full attention of his intense gaze.

Hermione took a deep breath and blew it out in a frustrated sort of way. “All of these people here today - they’re here because of you and Draco. Either they’re your business associates or part of your fan club, but either way, this day is about  _ you _ . I don’t want to make either one of you look bad.”

“Impossible,” Lucius repeated, and then opened his mouth as if to add something but paused. He seemed to be considering his words, and his mouth was slowly shifting into a smirk as he finally said, “Unless I were to discover you are not a member of this ‘fan club’ of mine. Tell me, pet: do you keep my picture under your pillow and kiss it every night?” From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand reach out and grasp the heavy door handle.

The latch clicked open, but his teasing and the accompanying twinkle he was directing her way caused her to reply automatically even as she heard the sound, “Absolutely not. Your ego is far too swollen already.” 

The door swung slowly towards them, and a ray of soft sunshine fell across their path. Lucius, who still leaned down slightly to even out their height difference, wrapped one large hand around her waist and said with a wolfish grin, “You wound me grievously, Lady.”

The opening door had nearly disclosed them to the waiting crowd, but in that moment the two were encased in an all-consuming bubble of intimacy. Hermione couldn’t help the indelicate snort of laughter that burst from her.  _ Lady indeed! _ She stood on tiptoe, clasping him by the lapels of those lovely dark blue robes, and kissed him soundly on the corner of his smiling mouth. Then there was the unmistakable click of a camera shutter and their bubble was popped.

  
  
  


* * * * * *

  
  


Hermione heaved a sigh of relief as the mammoth doors closed behind them, and sent an absent smile to the two guards who still accompanied them. A twenty-minute break in the privacy of the manor sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment. She was vaguely aware of Lucius guiding her along the corridor toward Draco’s temporary room but her mind was far away, caught up in processing her first exposure to a Pureblood reception.

At the door they were stopped by a guard she hadn’t met yet. He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes meaningfully at Lucius, then tipped his head further down the hall. The elder Malfoy made a sound of annoyance and looked down at Hermione, obviously irritated. Finally he sighed. “It would seem we have visitors, pet. Brace yourself.”

******

_ For two hours she’d stood beside her elder wizard. Two hours! When she first realized that her impetuous kiss had been caught on film, she’d jumped back and met Lucius’ gaze in apology, only to find him looking even more pleased with himself than usual. He’d led her out onto the wide top step in his formal way and then drawn her against his side.  _

_ There was a small crowd of reporters and their accompanying photographers arranged at the base of the steps, all demanding attention in a relatively polite manner. Those first few minutes of the reception belonged to the press, it seemed, and Hermione absorbed every detail and sound in an effort to gain understanding of the situation. Outwardly she attempted to keep a smile plastered on her face, but inwardly she was having a good shriek. ‘Merlin’s Bludgers, why doesn’t anyone think I need to know about these things?!’  _

_ Both the journalists and the crowd in the queue immediately seized upon the fact that Draco wasn’t with them. Amidst the general roar, one especially loud press member called out, ‘Mr. Malfoy, where is Draco? Turn this way for The Prophet, please.” There was a chorus of shutter clicks. _

_ “Draco is recovering from a rather nasty bump on the head received during the last Quidditch game at Hogwarts last week. He bumped his head again earlier this morning, and is resting under private care within the manor.” Lucius drawled in an unconcerned tone. When the gaggle of correspondents began speaking all at once, he silenced them with one raised hand and added, “I am sure he will join us later, although I would ask that you respect his convalescence.” Lucius had employed a Sonorus for the benefit of the crowd, and at these words a distressed murmur began. Somewhere far back in the queue a girl shrieked out Draco’s name in an agonized sort of way, and the cry was taken up by dozens more.  _

_ The elder Malfoy turned with a slight smirk to Hermione and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, ‘you were warned’. Their two guards moved to stand closer to them, wands held inconspicuously at the ready. Hermione valiantly resisted the almost overwhelming urge to turn and screech back, ‘He’s MINE!’ _

  
  


******

They exited the small drawing room without saying a word. Once the door was closed, however, Hermione rounded on her elder wizard. “Not one word, Lucius! We will  _ never _ speak of this, and I will  _ never _ enter that room again! I cannot  _ believe _ I was looking forward to that visit!””

He nodded in agreement. “You have my word.” They walked back toward Draco’s room. As they neared the door, he added, “I’m tempted to have you Obliviate me, pet.”

She glanced up at him contemplatively. “That’s a very good idea, Lucius.”

Draco was awake when they re-entered the room. He was propped up with pillows and looked as though he’d just awoken. Hermione crossed to him and leaned to kiss his forehead tenderly. “How’s my favorite moron?”

“Much better.” He smiled beatifically. “Is it time for another present?”

She couldn’t resist running her nose along his cheek and pressing another kiss to the lobe of his ear. “Have you been a good patient?”  _ Good gracious Merlin, I want nothing more than to crawl under those covers and cuddle with him. _

Lucius sank down gracefully onto the foot of the bed, sprawling to lean on one forearm. “Oh, yes; an update is in order. After all, the witches of the British Isles are worried about you, Draco,” he intoned with a smirk.

Draco groaned, although he seemed more disgusted than in pain. “Do they realize it’s my wedding day?” His eyes were slightly unfocused as he called across the room, “D’you hear, Greg? I’m Hermione’s favorite.”

******

_ When the awful noise finally ceased, the reporters began their questions in earnest and the preliminary air of courtesy thinned. Hermione gathered that each journalist was limited to only one or two questions, and was relieved each time a question was directed at Lucius. Her luck held until nearly the end, when the final journalist called out “Turn to the left for Witch Weekly, please. Miss Ganger, would you give us a genuine smile?” With great effort Hermione complied, and was taken slightly aback when the dark-haired young woman said, “You look lovely in that dress. It’s obviously couture; may I ask whom you chose to design your wardrobe?” _

_ Hermione blinked in surprise, thinking, ‘Of course, the one question I get and it has to be about fashion. Mother of Magic!’ Finally she stuttered, “Errrrr, thank you. I have no idea.” She glanced up at Lucius, who wore a faintly amused expression on his handsome face, and then back at the reporter. “I mean to say, it was a gift from my fiancés.” As the reporter’s magic quill began scribbling furiously, Hermione asked suspiciously, “Is that a Quick Quotes Quill?” _

_ “Yes, but only for the sake of convenience. I heavily edit my notes.” From the gleam in the woman’s eyes, it was apparent she was looking for a story angle. “What kind of witch wouldn’t want to be involved in such an exciting and personal decision?” Changing tacks, she added, “Or is it that you weren’t allowed?” _

_ Hermione still stood at Lucius’ side, her hand drawn under his arm and resting on his forearm and covered possessively with his other hand. Now she raised her free hand and settled it over his in an unconscious gesture of protection, and she narrowed her eyes slightly at the female reporter.  _

_ She was just opening her mouth to break all three of Ginny’s rules with gusto when she remembered her friend’s advice: ‘Be yourself – you’re clever and funny, and you’re very likeable when you hold back on the impatient know-it-all routine. I know, because I saw you do it once’.  _

_ Along the edge of her awareness, the Malfoy covenant stretched languorously and seemed to be waiting expectantly for her decision. ‘Clever and funny and likeable,’ she thought. Her mind raced quickly. ‘Be myself.’ The family magic sent a wave of amusement her way. ‘Oh, I see. Thank you.’ _

_ A split second’s observation of the reporter gave Hermione just the positive focal point she needed, and she stared into the young woman’s large, wide-set, intelligent brown eyes before offering honestly, “The kind of witch whose best friend has been dressing her for years.” The allusion to Ginny caused a genuine smirk to bloom on her face, and she continued, “I’ve only just been allowed to start tying my own shoes.” Some of the reporters laughed at her joke and she concluded, “Honestly, my interests lean more toward current research in practical applications of magic than fashion. The fact that Lucius and Draco went to such effort to relieve me of that responsibility shows how well they really know me.” _

_ Within her the family magic gave a purr of approval, and Hermione let out the breath she’d been holding. She felt Lucius give her hand a discreet squeeze, and saw that the Witch Weekly journalist was nodding at her in a pleased manner. There were a few more pictures taken, and then as if on cue the reporters began to disperse. Lucius and Hermione began descending the stone steps to the reception line, and he murmured silkily, “Well done, pet. Why on earth were you so nervous beforehand? You handled that splendidly.” _

_ “I wonder how pleased you would have been had I followed my first impulse and bitten that woman’s head off. She was baiting me! It could easily have been a disaster, Lucius! Thankfully the cov- Oh, bother. Here she comes now.” _

_ The Witch Weekly reporter approached them waving a business card. “Miss Granger, I hope you will consider giving our publication your first private interview as Wife to the House of Malfoy.” _

_ Hermione smiled politely as they continued walking past the dark-haired woman. “I’m afraid I’m not the sort of witch to increase your readership, but thank you.” _

_ “On the contrary, Miss Granger,” the reporter persisted, walking along beside them, “I think our readers would be thrilled to know the Malfoy Wife is more than just a lovely face. You’re a brilliant and kind-hearted war hero, the kind of woman every good mother wants her daughter to emulate. You’re exactly the witch our publication wants.” _

_ Hermione paused and looked at the woman closely. Her dark hair was cropped short and her intelligent brown eyes gleamed under finely arched brows. There was something oddly familiar about her. “What is your name?” _

_ “Calliope Tremlett.” She shook her head and grimaced. “Let me guess – I look familiar. It’s because of my brother Donaghan.” When Hermione looked nonplussed the reporter added with a roll of her eyes, “Plays bass for The Weird Sisters.” _

_ Hermione nodded absently, already circling back around to Calliope’s previous statement. “That certainly sounds very . . . progressive.” She looked at the business card still waving in front of her face and nodded her head again. “I’ll . . . consider it.” She took the card and handed it to Lucius, who tucked it into a pocket of his robes. _

_ Calliope Tremlett gave a wide, toothy grin that begged to be returned. “Sounds fantastic. I’m looking forward to it already.” She turned to go and called over her shoulder, “Expect my owl sometime next week!” _

_ Lucius chuckled quietly as they neared the reception line, and Hermione glanced up at him in consternation. “I spoke too soon. What have I just got myself into?” _

_ “It sounds as though you’re being vetted as a national role model.” He looked down at her with twinkling eyes. “I promise you a lesson devoted to the wizarding press as soon as we are free of distractions, my prize.” He led her to the head of the queue where there was a garden table and a comfortable-looking wingback chair pulled up to it, presumably for Draco. On the ground nearby were dozens of baskets piled high with cuttings of the blue Praestruxit roses, and her elder wizard gestured toward them with his hand. “A gift for each guest. It’s-“ _

_ “Let me guess - it’s a Pure-blood tradition,” Hermione hazarded. She noticed for the first time that the enchanted roses formed a narrow, waist-high barrier complete with thorns between the Malfoys and their guests. “And just when exactly do you think we’ll be distraction-free?” _

_ Lucius made a thoughtful noise as he continued to steer her toward the throng of people. “That is an excellent point to be considered at a time when we are without distraction. For now let us greet our guests, pet.” _

_ Hermione had consciously ignored the crowd until that moment, but now the loud wave of voices crashed over the wall of her concentration. The reception line had begun to move toward them. _

******

The young Goyle wizard stood from where he’d been sitting at a table littered with potions bottles and approached. “I think it’s safe to begin weaning him from the pain potion. Another few hours of rest and he should be able to sit outside with you.” His normally serious face broke into a broad grin as he added quietly, “I’m sure more than a few guests will be happy to hear that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to step out and have a word with my dad.”

Lucius stood and walked with Greg to the door, where they talked briefly. Meanwhile, Hermione asked Draco through clenched teeth, “Why are hordes of girls in the formal garden right now crying over the fact that you bumped your head?”

He gazed at her as one would a small child and said in a patient, explanatory tone, “I’ve been EBC since I was fourteen.”

“I have no idea what that even means, Draco.”  _ And I’m not sure I want to. _

“England’s Biggest Catch,” he prompted with the same patient air.

“According to  _ whom _ ? If that’s even real, it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she scoffed. _ Sweet Circe, let this be the drugs talking. _

He continued calmly, “The press, of course. I’m very handsome, Hermione. Rich, too. And I was a spy during the war, which makes me very mysterious and dashing. All in all, you’re very lucky to be marrying me.”

Her younger wizard had not yet incited Hermione’s temper, but now he was causing a vein in her temple to throb and her vision to become tinted with red. She took a deep breath and began talking herself out of any drastic actions.  _ I am conversing with a heavily medicated person. I love Draco, and have no desire to harm him in any way. _

Lucius must have returned to the bedside at some point unnoticed by her, and he obviously had overheard much of the conversation. From directly behind her he laughed quietly and said, “So much for being Hermione’s favorite.”

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice and bumped into Lucius’ hard chest. “Oh!” She turned around quickly. Catching sight of his amused countenance she growled, “He has  _ got _ to be joking.”

The smile on his aristocratic face morphed into disbelief. “Surely you read the papers, pet.”

“Of course I do! I read the business sections regularly, and sometimes the headlines if there’s something of interest happening. The last time I saw the Malfoy name in print, it was in reference to a recent corporate merger.”

Lucius drew her into his arms and gazed down at her with approval. “You are without doubt the most perfect woman in the world.” At her slightly mollified expression he continued, “However, there is more to a publication than those two sections. I speak of the  _ society _ pages, of course. The world is fascinated with people of power and money, and follows such lives avidly. The Malfoys are featured regularly in Wizard Watch, for example.”

Hermione slipped from Lucius’ embrace and mulled this over for a few seconds. “You’re saying that people actually  _ follow _ you and Draco via the society pages, and that’s where he got that ridiculous title.”  _ I honestly thought Molly and Minerva were joking about that. _

Draco supplied helpfully, “Don’t be jealous, Hermione. I’m sure you’ll have one soon enough. Even Lucius has a moniker. It’s-”

Lucius actually snarled. Then he said in a low, threatening tone, “Not another word,  _ EBC _ .”

The younger Malfoy stopped himself mid sentence and gave a martyred sigh. “Never mind.”

Hermione couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped her. While the idea of living such a publicly scrutinized lifestyle was slightly horrifying, the situation itself was hilarious. Her younger wizard, it would seem, was a heartbreaker who, at some subconscious level, was quite comfortable in his status.  _ ‘Mr. ‘You’re Very Lucky to be Marrying Me” won’t be living this down any time soon, _ she thought with a grin. As for Lucius, he apparently had a following of his own, if the fact that he was embarrassed by the press’ moniker for him meant anything. _ He’s still blushing!  _ Hermione giggled madly at the thought of how quickly she could discover his secret with a little bit of research. 

Both Malfoys were looking at her with concern, and so she stifled her laughter and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Sorry, it’s all just a bit overwhelming.” She was overtaken with another bout of giggles, and added with difficulty, “Said the witch who accidentally accepted your war stake three weeks ago! Honestly, people would eat this up on toast!” Her uncontrollable laughter slowly ceased. “Let’s talk about something -  _ anything _ \- else.”

That statement seemed to penetrate the addled fog in Draco’s brain, because for one fleeting moment he reverted to his courteous, earnest self. “It’s very kind of you to take your break in here with me, especially when I’m not exactly in my right mind. Thank you.” With a brow furrowed in concern he went on, “I hope I haven’t said anything to offend you.”

Hermione stalked to his side and leaned down until her nose nearly touched his. “I haven’t hexed you yet, but it remains a distinct possibility.” She kissed his nose for emphasis. Reaching for her handbag on the bedside table, she sat down onto the bed near Draco and began hunting through it. When she’d selected two of the miniaturized wrapped boxes and returned them to their original size, she offered them to their prospective recipients. “I’d like to give you another present before our time is up.”

******

_ As the first guests approached, Lucius murmured, “I will introduce you formally to each Pure-blood House, but there is no protocol with the other guests other than standard courtesy. Your task is to present each person with a rose when I turn to you. It is both a gift and a signal for them to move along.”  _

_ He nodded to the advancing group once in a courteous manner while Hermione stooped to pick up a rose basket. They were a handsome, well-dressed family of six, one of whom was a familiar looking young man directing a friendly wink at her. Hermione smiled brightly at her former classmate as Lucius said, “Miss Granger, allow me to introduce the House of Macmillan.” _

_ The Macmillan wizards bowed, and Mrs. Macmillan stretched out her left hand toward Hermione with a warm smile. “Welcome, Lady.” _

_ Hermione raised her own left hand, meeting Mrs. Macmillan’s above the rose barrier. She was surprised when the woman lowered her head and kissed the back of her hand tenderly. “Thank you,” she replied, unsure of what was expected of her. Mercifully, at that moment Lucius looked down at her with a slight nod. Hermione recognized this as her cue and gently removed her hand. She gave a rose to each member of the family, and they left. _

_ Half a dozen more Pure-blood families followed, and soon Hermione was automatically lifting her left hand to accept each House Wife’s kiss of greeting. She took copious mental notes of the fascinating protocol, eager to write it down later. Even the wizarding households that didn’t belong to Pure-blood society followed what seemed to be well-known and lovely conventions, and they were equally intriguing. So rapt had her attention been, in fact, that she was surprised when the first two-hour ‘shift’ came to a close. _

_ As the guards escorted her and Lucius back toward the manor, a lightning bolt of thought struck her brain. ‘Sweet Circe, forget starting my own diary - I’m going to write a definitive reference work on Bespoke Witches!’ The idea brought a genuine smile to her lips, and Lucius noticed at once. _

_ Bending slightly to her level as they walked, he murmured, “What has my lovely one glowing with such happiness?” _

_ She looked up into his handsome face and nearly moaned, “Oh, Lucius! I just realized the research possibilities involved with wizarding social mores!” _

******

Both wizards perked up at the word ‘present’, and Lucius came to sit behind her on the edge of the bed. Draco began ripping the wrappings from his package immediately, but Lucius moved yet closer to her. When his torso was pressed lightly against her back, he wrapped his arms around so that he held his own gift in her lap. Murmuring in her ear as he began carefully peeling off the paper, he said, “You could have saved us both the trouble and simply wrapped yourself up, pet.”

The words tickled her ear, as did his long fingers whenever they brushed against her stomach or thighs. Lucius seemed intent on drawing out the process as long as possible, until Hermione grabbed it from him and tore the remaining wrapping off the large framed print. “I would have suffocated by now, you tease.” She waited for his reaction, gratified when she felt him freeze in place.

The moving image looked up at them from her lap. In it, Hermione lounged in a tub filled with bubbles. Her hair was piled high on her head, but errant curls cascaded down to brush against her gleaming, wet skin. The girl in the picture looked at them with a secretive smile as she lifted her arms from beneath the water and ran a dripping flannel over one bare shoulder. 

When Lucius finally moved, it was to run one forefinger over her photographed form. With it he highlighted a shining rivulet of water that ran from her collarbone down between her bubble-obscured breasts. “And I would have caught this drop of water with my tongue.” He inhaled deeply against the skin of her neck and then darted out his tongue in demonstration.

In an instant the desire that had raged between them earlier was rekindled. Hermione turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his hungrily. Lucius groaned and laid her down over his brother’s outstretched legs, pushing his tongue deeply into her mouth. 

The passionate kiss would have escalated to something far more satisfying, but it was halted when Draco shifted in bed and kicked his legs, which lay beneath the two of them. When Lucius looked up with a growl, Draco gave them an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get more comfortable.” He lifted his own framed print and added, “And my attention was elsewhere.”

Lucius gave a long-suffering sigh and sat up, pulling Hermione with him. He smoothed the front of his robes. “It’s just as well. Our time is limited, and our witch has been sealed into her gown by a tyrant.” 

Draco didn’t answer, and a glance in his direction showed that he was looking at his gift intently. Hermione and Lucius traded a few more lingering kisses and caresses, but the moment had passed for anything more. Eventually she broke away with a soft smile and moved to the head of the bed, curling up beside Draco’s pillows as much as her slim-skirted dress would allow. She leaned her head near his.

The picture he held in his hands was the one of her in the Malfoy library. In it, she sat at a reading table, pouring over a book and nibbling on a quill, dressed only in an unbuttoned oversized uniform shirt and a Slytherin tie. Her eyes flicked up to the camera at one point, and at the same moment the shirt slipped from her shoulder. The image hinted at more than it actually revealed, but Draco’s eyes were glued to it.

“You spent nearly every afternoon in the school library,” Draco murmured. “I used to go and watch you from behind the nearest bookshelf, wishing I could just walk up and talk to you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lucius stand and cross the room to the table where Greg had been sitting earlier. She returned her attention to Draco.  _ I had a stalker in school. Only the fact that it was Draco makes that idea romantic.  _ Hermione stroked her fingers through his soft, pale hair. “Why didn’t you?”  _ The pain potion must be wearing off. He sounds more like himself than he has all morning. _

He exhaled quietly. “The Headmaster’s orders. You had your mission, and I had mine. Neither of us could afford to be distracted. Besides,” he said in a wistful way, “You had your heart set on someone else.”

“Oh, Draco,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to be so alone for so long. And I’m sorry you had to watch me make a fool of myself over R- over  _ him _ . I hope you know that you were always going to be the one I chose.”  _ I just had to engage myself to you in order to find that out. _

He tilted his head and smiled dreamily. “I love this picture. It makes me think in the crudest terms imaginable.”

“Tell me.” Hermione shivered in anticipation, hoping he would continue and that his words weren’t fueled solely by the pain potion. She was rewarded after waiting only the span of a few heartbeats.

“It’s just another of my numerous fantasies, Hermione.” He looked away shyly. “Trysting in the library, and after we’d . . . you’d wear my shirt and go back to studying as if we hadn’t just . . . And you’d look at me like that.”

She blushed at the vivid picture painted by his halting words.  _ How is it we’re back to being shy with each other? _ Aloud she said, “I’d hoped you would like this one.” She ran a finger over the print. “For what it’s worth, you’re the only man I’ve ever dreamed of defiling a library with.”

Draco looked at her with swiftly darkening eyes and sat up quickly. The action caused him to grunt in obvious pain and clutch his head, breaking the mood. “Bad idea.”

“I’ll get Greg. You need more pain potion,” she soothed, pushing him back to his pile of pillows.

“No more potions, little witch. They knock me out, and I want to spend today with you and Lucius,” he argued.

Hermione silenced him with a kiss. “The day’s only just begun. You have plenty of time for one more nap.” Then she fled before he could open his mouth again.

The remaining few minutes of their first break revolved around coaxing a very reluctant Draco to take one more dose of pain potion and then a mad, last-minute dash to the nearest loo on Hermione’s part.  _ Only those two could distract me from a full bladder for that long _ , she thought as she paused to quickly inspect her reflection in the mirror. The witch looking back at her had an air of excited confidence, and her eyes shone brightly.  _ That’s the look of someone in love.  _ She looked closer.  _ It’s also the look I get when I’m enjoying a research project. How lucky am I that I’m up to my armpits in both!  _ Finding Lucius and the guards waiting in the corridor, she grabbed the elder Malfoy’s hand and began tugging him along. “Chop, chop – I have more to learn about Pure-blood wedding receptions!”

******

_ This time the two hours flew by. Hermione saw many fellow Hogwarts students, and while she’d never considered them friends, she certainly knew their names and the houses they’d been sorted into. She was disappointed when more than a few witches pretended they’d been close friends with her at school, and she felt the same stinging sensation in her heart she’d had last Saturday, when Lucius attended the Quidditch match and many students had done the same thing. Between guests she muttered, “They either scorned or ignored me at school, and somehow think I may have conveniently forgotten the fact. Well, you know what they’ve forgotten: when it comes to memory, I drew the longest straw.” _

_ While it was difficult for Hermione to stomach such transparent falsehood, the same could not be said of her elder wizard. Lucius was magnificent in these instances. He smiled and nodded politely, completely unperturbed by the gushing and awkward flirting, and somehow sped the favor-mongers on their way. It didn’t hurt that he somehow knew to draw her close to his side during those interactions, and seemed to understand how she felt. After she’d made that remark, he laid his free hand over hers, where it curled around his forearm, and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I find it helpful to think about something else entirely in these situations. Smile, pet.” _

_ “What do you-” She stopped to greet the young family now in front of them, whom she now knew by their approach weren’t part of Pure-blood society. “Thank you for coming,” she said with a smile, and gave each of them a blue rose. No sooner had they moved on than Hermione returned to her interrupted conversation. “What do you think about?” She glanced up at him. _

_ A nuance of amusement passed over Lucius’ aristocratic features. He replied sotto voce, “For the past hour I have been entertaining myself with thoughts of soft, wet skin and bubbles.” _

_ His answer rendered her tongue and brain useless. Finally, after smiling and handing out roses to the next few guests using muscle memory alone, she whispered longingly, “Lucius.” His reply was a deep, satisfied hum that somehow traveled from his body to hers despite their limited contact.  _

_ The queue died down after that and Lucius suggested they take the opportunity to walk about. With their guards a few paces behind at all times, they left the formal gardens. Although she’d spent very little time outside during the past few days, it was obvious that the grounds directly around the manor had been drastically altered for the reception. Below the formal gardens, in the fields that ran down to the river, the flags on the tents waved in a gentle breeze, and the sound of music floated up from the stage on the bridge. Guests roamed the lawns and sat in the tents, and children played everywhere.  _

_ They walked a slow circuit around the entire manor, and no detail escaped her cataloguing gaze. They passed through the arch of trees that led to the maze (a guard stood barring the entrance) and made their way over the lawns near the veranda of the morning room. That area had been turned into an enchanted play-garden of sorts – it was as though an entire village had been shrunk and painted in primary colors and then filled with petting zoo animals, and the concept screamed Fred and George Weasley. It was teeming with young families at that moment, and Hermione noticed her wizard’s eyes lingered on the scene although he said nothing. _

_ The animated topiaries were even more fantastic than she’d remembered, and she affectionately petted each one they passed. Albus strutted boldly through the crowds, his peahens scuttling along behind. The water in the enormous fountain at the center of the circular drive had been frozen into an ice sculpture of a magnificent peacock, and roses climbed riotously up the columns of the elaborate portico. _

_ Rounding the far side of the manor, Hermione ground to a halt. She didn’t think she’d seen this garden before, and she turned to Lucius. “Was this here before?” _

_ He smirked and gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. “This is the other half of my rose garden. It appears when it feels sociable.” _

_ Hermione looked back at the scene in front of her. The garden was enormous and butted up to the heavily windowed side of the manor. Climbing roses and ivy covered every inch of stone, and flowering trees added shade. There were trimmed shrubs and manicured hedges and a fountain, but primarily the place had a gloriously wild look. Several groups of people were walking through it at the moment. She took a hesitant step forward, feeling the pulse of strong, almost sentient magic. “What do you mean?” _

_ “I mean that sometimes it’s here and sometimes it isn’t,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “I suppose it has to do with-“ _

_ “Ley lines,” she finished with him, shaking her head in disbelief. “I find it difficult to believe that something so elemental could feel so . . . conscious.” The garden seemed to shimmer in the spring air, and then it was gone. The people who had just been admiring a grouping of plants looked around in shock at the abruptly bare lawn, and then wandered back toward the front of the manor. “What just happened?” _

_ Lucius smirked again. “I believe you offended my garden. You’ll have to learn to watch your tongue, pet.” _

_ “Why am I not surprised that your garden is moody, Lucius?”  _

_ He replied with a deep peal of happy laughter. “I happen to know you like my moods.” _

******

Draco was awake when they returned, but he was still heavily medicated. Hermione couldn’t help laughing at his loopy expression. “Oh, you silly snake! What are we going to do with you?”

It looked as though it was taking great effort for him to keep his eyes open as he said hopefully, “You could give me another-“

She covered his mouth with her hand, glancing to where Greg, Gore, and Lucius stood behind her. Turning back to her younger wizard, she said firmly, “Do not make me hex you, Draco.”

“I was only going to say ‘present’,” he said with an innocent smile. His heavy lidded eyes told a different story altogether, as did his waggling eyebrows.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was beginning to think that filthy-mouthed Draco wasn’t nearly as much fun when he had no control over his impulses. “Not one suggestive word. Do you understand? 

He was looking at her cunningly. “That depends.”

“On  _ what _ ?” Hermione growled.

Draco laughed. “Lucius is right. You look just like an angry kitten when you do that.” At her warning look he closed his eyes and smiled. “A very  _ beautiful _ kitten that should curl up here on my lap so I can rub her pretty-”

She cut off whatever he was going to say with her hand once more. “ _ No _ . If you’ll promise to be quiet, I’ll give you another present when Lucius is done.” She kept her hand in place until he nodded his head in agreement.

Lucius called her name, and she went to where he still stood with the Goyle wizards. “What is it?”

“Draco should be well enough to sit with us in the reception line as soon as he’s more alert. However, the effects of the pain potion won’t have fully worn off at that point. We have been discussing the wisdom of letting him out in public in this state. What do you think?”

******

_ They continued around the manor until they’d come back to the formal gardens, and now they made their way down the stone staircase to the lower fields. “This is marvelous,” she exclaimed at one point, when they passed under a colonnade made of ice. “And what’s that divine smell?” _

_ Lucius raised his cane and pointed to a large tent near the river. “The elves are preparing an outdoor dinner. Over there,” he gestured to another tent, this one directly below them at the base of the steps, “Are more immediate refreshments. Would you care for something, pet?” _

_ “That would be lovely,” she said, realizing how long ago her last real meal had been. _

_ They reached the tent just as a large group of people descended upon it, but Lucius guided her to the front as if they were the only two there. Hermione noticed how the crowd parted for them and fought the self-conscious feeling that threatened to overwhelm her. She tilted her chin up into the air and smiled pleasantly at each person they passed, relieved when the worst look she received was one of admiration. _

_ The witches at the counter wore Fortescue’s uniforms and were serving ice cream and cold drinks. “Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy, Lady. What’s your fancy?” _

_ Hermione beamed at the pleasant women and looked through the glass front of the freezer. “Some of that, if you please,” she said. Seconds later Hermione was the lustful recipient of an ice cream cone mounded with a decadent chocolate concoction. She thanked the server and watched as Lucius took a spoon and small bowl from the tray on the counter. As they walked away, she said, “I hope you don’t think I plan to share this with you.” _

_ He chuckled. “Believe me, pet, I have no desire to deprive you of your treat. However,” he ordered in a stern tone, “You will put it in this bowl and eat it with a spoon.” At her disbelieving look, he leaned to speak directly into her ear. “This is not the day to tease me by running your tongue up and down an ice cream cone.” _

_ Her eyes widened in comprehension, and she smirked even as she blushed deeply. She took the proffered bowl and complied right away. Looking up at him from under her lashes she said demurely, “I suppose that means you won’t feed it to me, then.” Lucius cleared his throat, and she couldn’t help but add, “And I probably shouldn’t suck on the spoon, either.” _

_ It looked as though he was trying not to smile when he replied, “Be a good girl, Hermione. At least for now.” _

_ Hermione and Lucius toured the lower fields much as they had the lawns of the manor. Everywhere they went, people stopped to congratulate them and ask about Draco. “He’s resting,” Lucius said each time, “but he’ll be with us in the reception line later.”  _

_ They found Fleur and her fiancés, her father in tow, at the top of the stone steps near the formal gardens. It was obvious the three Weasley wizards weren’t about to let her out of their close proximity any time soon and so Hermione settled for a few vague pleasantries and some sharp-eyed observation.  _

_ Aside from the Frenchwoman’s incandescent smile and the fact that her ice-queen persona had melted, nothing stood out until Bill said something to her in a low voice, and she craned her long white neck to look up at him. The movement exposed the fact that the stretch of skin where her neck and shoulders joined was covered in a thick gauze bandage. Fleur noticed Hermione’s glance and blushed a deep red, but she held her gaze and smiled blissfully. Hermione continued the light conversation for several more minutes, but from that point on her mind repeated the same thought, ‘Oh, dear Merlin. Ginny was right - Bill bit Fleur!’ _

******

Hermione blinked several times, looking from Lucius to Gore, and then to Greg. Finally she blurted, “That’s the worst idea  _ ever _ . Have you-” she blushed and looked over at Draco, who was watching them curiously from his bed, and then turned back to the three wizards. “Have you  _ heard _ him? He’s completely uninhibited, not to mention  _ delusional _ .”

Lucius argued, “This is his wedding day. Surely there is some way he can be part of the reception.”

“Well, the only things that come to mind are Langlock and Imperius, and the use of the latter comes with a life sentence in Azkaban,” she hissed in a whisper.

Gore raised an eyebrow. “Imperius could work.” At her noise of shock, he cracked a smile. “That was a joke, Lady.”

Hermione turned her mind back to the problem at hand. “Is there some way to neutralize the pain potion, or to purge it from his system?”

The large guard looked at her thoughtfully. “If he had ingested too much of it, a bezoar would be used and have that effect.” He turned to Lucius. “The worst it could do is nothing at all.”

Lucius nodded decisively. “Excellent. Proceed at once.”

Gore gave quiet orders to his son at once, and only minutes later Draco was physically restrained and the hard, nasty item shoved down his throat. Hermione crouched near his head and spoke sympathetically in his ear. “Try to relax, Draco. It’s to clear the potion from you.”

“Aaaagh! Nnnngh!” He gagged and groaned for what seemed an eternity, causing Hermione to feel a bit nauseous herself. Finally it settled in his stomach and he lay panting under the web of heavy arms. “You can all get off me now,” he said hoarsely. 

Hermione exchanged a glance with Lucius, who asked Gore, “How soon will we know if it worked?”

It was Draco who answered. He glared at the elder Malfoy and practically snarled, “Oh, it worked, Lu. My head is clearing as I speak.” He made a pitiful noise and draped a hand over his eyes. “Merlin above, I hate you right now.”

Lucius merely chuckled. “I’ll go get your things,  _ EBC _ .” He Disapparated with a commanding  _ crack _ .

Hermione, who still stood near the head of Draco’s bed, raised a hand as if to touch him but hesitated. Draco seemed to see the movement from behind his hand. He murmured, “Please.”

That simple word was all it took for her to plunk down on the bed and take his head in her arms. “How do you feel?”

He sighed against her breasts. “Well, the narleywhickets are gone but my mouth tastes like goat. Was that truly necessary?” He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her closer to him.

Hermione laughed softly.  _ There’s my Draco _ . “Yes, but I’m sure you can have a drink to wash the taste down.”

“What I need is a toothbrush and an entire tube of toothpaste. Wait – did he say  _ EBC _ ?” 

Hermione stifled a giggle and kissed the top of his head in lieu of a response. 

They snuggled together until Lucius Apparated back to the room. “Enough dawdling. I brought your things to the restroom down the corridor because the Goyles don’t want you Apparating just yet. Go on.”

Draco muttered something unintelligible and slowly pulled away. As he sat up and began easing off the bed, Hermione cried, “Wait! I have a present-giving schedule to keep. Don’t go anywhere just yet.” She pointed at the nearest chair and looked pointedly at Lucius.

Their immediate compliance brought a triumphant smile to her lips.  _ Luna was right again; this present was perfect. _ As she sorted through the remaining four packages, though, she frowned. Choosing the next set was easy, but it would be difficult to decide which of the last two photographs went to each wizard. She chewed her lip and decided not to worry about it. Hermione restored them to their original size with a wave of her wand and turned, a gift in each hand. She said playfully, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

******

  
  


_ They exited the manor in a dignified tangle of arms, with Hermione between her wizards. The queue was every bit as crowded when they returned to it, although this time it seemed to be full of young women and school-age girls. Hermione recognized many of their faces and realized they’d already been through the reception line earlier. Apparently these were Draco’s fanwitches, and news of his imminent recovery had been spread. _

_ As they drew near, the steady buzz of voices increased in volume. Draco muttered with a smile plastered on his face, “Oh Merlin, I hate this.” _

******

Hermione handed out the gifts and watched as the Malfoy wizards made short work of the wrapping papers. The moment Draco’s was revealed he gave a crow of delight and fell back on the bed, holding the framed print above his head. “Oh, little witch. You have no idea,” he murmured appreciatively. He lay partly on the bed, with his knees bent and his bare feet on the floor.

Lucius opened his as he had the others, in a dignified, unhurried pace; although Hermione saw his shoulders rise and fall with several quickened breaths. When at last the paper fell away, his mouth dropped open.

She went to her elder wizard first, allowing him to draw her onto his lap. “Happy wedding day, Lucius.”

His eyes were glued to the print. “That is what you keep saying, and yet those words seem inadequate in describing the emotion within me.” He spared her a quick glance before returning to stare at her photographed image. “I see that my garden shares my feelings.”

Hermione looked down at the picture, remembering the moment it had been taken. “At first I was just going to lie down in the flower bed,” she said softly, “but it was as though the roses were whispering to me. I took off my dress and they twined themselves around me so gently, I couldn’t feel the thorns.”

She heard him swallow thickly, and when she cast her eyes at him saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Go,” he breathed, “See to Draco, pet.”

Hermione pressed a tender kiss to his trembling mouth and obeyed, recognizing that this picture held far more meaning to Lucius than the previous two. Draco seemed engrossed in his own gift until she stood between his legs, at which point he grabbed her nearest hand and pulled her down on top of him.

He grinned up at her. “You’re wearing my jersey.”

“I’m  _ only _ wearing your jersey,” she corrected with a corresponding expression.

The smirk slipped from his handsome face, to be replaced by a look of intensity. “And you’re riding my Firebolt.” He lifted one dark blond eyebrow expectantly.

“You said that’s what you wanted,” she whispered, leaning in closer. Her eyes were drawn to his beautiful mouth, which was drawn into his patented almost-smile.

Without warning he rolled them over so that he lay over her. He dipped his head as though he was going to kiss her, but bypassed her mouth and ran his lips along her throat. “I’d like to kiss you,” he murmured against her neck, “but I have goat breath.”

The spell of the moment was broken, and Hermione pushed him off with a laugh. “We’re probably out of time anyway.” She sighed, wondering what she was in for now that  _ EBC _ was joining the reception.

*****

_ Five minutes into the third quarter of the reception, Hermione was ready to kill every female guest under the age of thirty. Many were pleasant to her, some seemed not to notice her presence, and a few regarded her with blatant envy. All, however, made it clear that they were there for the express purpose of seeing and conversing with Draco Malfoy. Lucius observed with clearly discernible amusement from Hermione’s other side. _

_ Draco may have recovered from the side effects of the pain potion, but he was still recovering from his concussion. He looked tired and was even paler than usual. His sense of humor and propriety had returned, fortunately. He had sunk gratefully into the chair that awaited him, holding Hermione’s hand until she absolutely had to pick up the nearest rose basket and resume handing out the blue flowers. As they’d taken their places, he pulled her down to his level and implored quietly, “For the love of Merlin, please don’t make me hand out the gifts.” He covered the action by playfully snatching the rose she’d automatically taken from the basket. _

_ The logic behind his request became apparent when the first eager witch stepped forward. She smiled happily at Hermione and wished her many happy returns of the day, then turned and bobbed a quick curtsy to Lucius. Then she directed all of her attention to the younger Malfoy, and her expression was almost fanatical. “H-h-hi, Draco,” she stammered. _

_ Hermione watched the interaction closely. Draco smiled politely at the witch and said in a very reserved tone, “Thank you for coming.” It wasn’t anything like the way he interacted with her, and it was fascinating to see the change in him. _

_ It couldn’t have been more than a second or two that she stood and watched, but suddenly she realized that Draco was looking at her expectantly. Remembering her duty, she extended the rose in her hand toward the witch before them. “Thank you for coming.” _

_ The witch looked down to where Draco still held the blue rose he’d taken from Hermione only seconds before. “I’d like that one, please.” _

_ Hermione’s fingers closed around the rose stem in her hand so tightly a thorn punctured the skin of her thumb. That wild, possessive feeling threatened to overwhelm her even as she heard Draco say firmly, “This one belongs to Hermione.”  _

_ Somehow she extended the rose in her hand to the bold witch, who took it with obvious disappointment and moved out of the queue. After several more young women had passed through the line, all with varying styles of the same forwardness, she remarked through clenched teeth, “I don’t remember it being like this at school.” _

_ “You’ve cut yourself on a thorn.” Draco took hold of the bleeding digit and brought it to his mouth, where he ran his tongue over the torn skin. He took out his wand and healed it with a quick charm. “Hogwarts is very strict about that sort of thing.” As the next dreamy-eyed guest stepped in front of them he concluded glumly, “School was my safe place.” _

_ Thankfully the queue was filled with an equal amount of families and elderly people, and Hermione was able to distract herself with the observation of more wizarding etiquette. She met the elderly French cousins Achille and Bertrand, who were at once ancient and charming and utterly roguish. As she handed them their roses, Achille winked at her and said in halting English, “Alas, I had hoped for the . . . how do you say . . . slip de femme.” Her blush burned long after Lucius had supplied a smirking translation at her insistence. _

_ Minerva swayed through at some point, one hand clutching a cocktail glass and the other hanging onto the arm of the Headmaster. “Have you been to the bar yet, Hermione?” At Hermione’s answer to the negative, her favorite professor leaned in and whisper-yelled, “Holy hell, but Molly knows how to throw a party! The only thing missing is male entertainment. I told her, you know-” She was interrupted by Draco, who tactfully redirected her attention to a different subject. _

_ Meanwhile, the Headmaster twinkled down at her in that favorite-uncle sort of way. “I believe this is yours, Miss Granger,” he said kindly. He levitated a tremendously large tome over the rose barrier and into her outstretched arms. _

_ Hermione clutched at the reference book she’d lost in the Hogwarts dungeons just a few days previously as though it were an infant. “Oh, thank you, sir! I was so worried about it. I really can’t thank you enough!” She hefted the heavy thing and ran her cheek against its ancient leather cover, earning a smile from both her wizards in the process. _

_ The Headmaster continued to regard her with a twinkle in his eye, but he asked in a serious tone, “Are you prepared to be happy, my dear?” _

_ She understood his meaning at once. “Incredibly so, sir.” _

_ “Then I have received all the thanks I require.” He looked at the Malfoy wizards and then back at her. “We’ll meet again, of that I am certain. Until then, I wish you many happy returns of this day.” He was gone before Hermione had a chance reply. _

_ Molly and Arthur made their way through, much to Hermione’s delight. After the formal introduction had been made, the Weasley Wife reached over the rose barrier and pulled Hermione close enough to cover her cheeks with motherly kisses. Out loud she exclaimed, “Oh, Arthur, just look at my girl!” Then she whispered in the young witch’s ear, “Don’t let these silly witches get the best of you. They’ll lose interest soon enough.” _

_ Hermione smiled gratefully. It was exactly what she’d needed to hear, and as usual Molly had been the one to say it. “Thank you for everything! What you’ve done . . . all of this,” she gestured vaguely with her hands, “I’ll remember every detail forever. How can I ever . . .?” _

_ Molly gave a happy sob and patted Hermione’s cheek as she stepped back. “Oh, my sweet girl!” She glanced at the crowd behind her in the rose queue. “But I’m holding up the line. I’ll see you after all this is done, and we’ll have a nice dinner together before the ceremony tonight.”  _

_ Arthur shook Draco’s hand once more and clapped Lucius on the back. The two older men were grinning and the younger Malfoy was blushing, and Hermione suspected she didn’t want to know what it was they had been talking about. She was unexpectedly relieved to see the next guest descending upon them. _

Hermione held the last wrapped pictures in her hand. She’d returned to the manor with the guards as soon as the reception line had been closed so that she could retrieve the last of her gifts to Lucius and Draco. There wasn’t much time for dawdling - her wizards needed to join the feast with the guests, and she needed to go with Molly. Still, she paused to take a deep breath.

As she left the room where Draco had recovered, she looked down at the innocuous-looking packages.  __ A frisson of nerves ran down her spine. She’d kept these two for last, aware they would evoke the strongest reactions in her wizards, and she couldn’t help but wonder what they would be.  _ Did I go too far? Should I not have asked to use the House bed?  _ Ginny and Fleur certainly hadn’t thought so, she reminded herself.

She took a breath and stepped out into the corridor. The manor was so quiet after the noise of the crowds all afternoon that the sound of the guards’ heavy boots behind her was like thunder.  _ They’ll love them, just as they loved the others. And this will be the first one Draco sees without being under the influence of that awful potion.  _ No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she wished it hadn’t.  _ What if he’s mortified? _ She shook her head. All this thinking at cross-purposes was making her dizzy.

The main door loomed ahead. Before she could think up any more worrisome questions, she strode to it, pulled it open forcefully, and stepped out into the evening air. Her wizards both stood across the formal gardens, their faces turned as if watching for her return.  _ Oh, for Circe’s sake. They’re going to love them, and then we’re all going to wish I hadn’t been sealed into this dress by a terrifying house elf.  _

As she walked toward Lucius and Draco, Molly appeared at the head of the stone steps and made her way in the same direction. The Weasley Wife’s cheerful voice was directed at the Malfoy wizards but easily carried to Hermione. “Where’s the Wife-to-be?”

“Here I am, Molly! I just had to get something from inside,” she called out as she neared the three by the stone rail.  _ Well, this is awkward. _ The two guards faded into the background nearby, and for a moment Hermione wished her mother-figure would as well.

******

_ The end was finally in sight. At seven thirty, the reception line had been closed, and twenty minutes later the last guest had been introduced to Hermione and given a blue rose. She walked between Lucius and Draco through the now quiet formal gardens and looked down over the stone rail, to where all guests were slowly congregating in the fields below.  _

_ The sun wouldn’t set for at least another hour, but the elaborate reception feast was being laid out along the tables under the tents. Lucius watched quietly, his warm hand wrapped around Hermione’s waist, while Draco held her hand and leaned against the rail, much recovered but still tired. Hermione herself was grateful for the relative quiet, drinking it in after the long, noisy afternoon. Molly would collect her in a few minutes. They’d go to Hermione’s suite for a meal together, and then they’d prepare her for the full moon ceremony. She wouldn’t see her wizards again for several hours at least.  _

_ Hermione realized she needed to give the last of her presents to her husbands-to-be. She stepped out of their embrace, explaining, “I have one last present for each of you. I’ll just go get them.” _

_ Draco smiled, and the world tilted sideways for a moment. “Hurry back.”  _

_ Lucius’ reaction was a bit more practical, although he caressed her cheek as he said, “Don’t forget your guards, pet.” _

******

Molly held her arms out toward Hermione, smiling as she bossed, “Well, come on! Come on! We have a lot to get done. What do you have there?”

Hermione clutched the packages to her torso for a second, and then forced her muscles to relax. “The last of my wedding presents for Lucius and Draco.” 

Molly clearly didn’t understand the nature of the presents, nor the sanctity of privacy. “Oh, how lovely! Go on, open them!” She motioned impatiently with her hands. “Let’s see what they are, shall we?” She grinned conspiratorially at the Malfoys.

Lucius quirked an eyebrow at Hermione, and Draco blushed deeply. “Errrrr, Molly, about that . . .” the young witch trailed off helplessly, shooting both wizards a withering glare.  _ Neither of them are going to be any help at all _ , she thought in frustration,  _ and there’s no way Molly is getting a look at these! _

She sighed in resignation, ran through her options, and selected the one that promised to leave everyone’s dignity intact. It involved tapping in to her Slytherin tendencies. She said in a regretful tone, “Actually, Molly, these are magically sealed. They won’t open until right before the ceremony tonight.”

The Weasley Wife looked disappointed, but accepted the words without question. “That’s alright; you can tell me all about them over dinner.” There was a shout from the bottom of the stone steps, and she paused. “That sounds like Arthur. I’ll just be a moment.” She hurried in that direction.

With movement made uncoordinated by frantic haste, Hermione shoved the packages at her wizards and said hurriedly, “These are . . . they’re for the both of you. I mean to say, they don’t have a specific recipient.”

Draco was looking at her with a mixture of shock and respect. “You just lied to Molly. And very well, I might add.”

Lucius chuckled. He ran a finger under the folded edge of the wrapping paper covering his gift and popped a piece of the Spello-tape loose. He smirked and murmured silkily, “Whatever would she say, pet?”

“If you think of it, Molly should be very flattered.” She shrugged. “It’s what daughters do.” The woman in question seemed engrossed in a loud conversation with someone at the bottom of the steps and had her back to them. Hermione watched as Draco followed his brother’s example and began carefully opening the package. 

Lucius slid his framed print a few inches out of its giftwrap but kept his eyes on her. He leaned in, his words ghosting across her cheek. “They lie to their mothers?”

She shivered in pleasure when his warm breath fanned over her skin. “When there are naked photographs involved, Lucius, yes – that’s  _ exactly _ what they do.” The curve of her smile brushed the edge of his jaw.

He moved yet closer, and now his lips moved against hers in the facsimile of a kiss. “Must I remind you what the word ‘naked’ means, pet?”

“No,” she murmured against his mouth. “I think you’ll find you don’t. But if you’d like to check my work . . .” 

Lucius stood to his full height and looked down at the package in his hands. “I’m considering it.” His gaze narrowed in consideration when it shifted to where Molly talked loudly away.

Draco had made short work of unwrapping his gift. She shivered again as he looked up at her, his ocean-colored eyes darkening to a stormy hue. He took hold of her upper arm, dragged her further along the stone rail away until there was a semblance of privacy, and then pushed her up against it. His arms caged her in, and he pressed his body against hers so that she was forced to lean back to see his face. “Is that what you want, little witch?”

Hermione’s body responded to his forceful reaction in equal measure. Her brain clouded over, her gut pooled with desire, and her knickers were suddenly very, very wet. She hadn’t seen which picture he’d opened, and now she strained to catch a glimpse of it where it was tucked under one of his arms. From the colors along the exposed side, she knew it was the one of her bent over the arm of Lucius’ wingback chair, her arse barely covered in white ruffled knickers and sticking up into the air impudently. “It was . . .” she panted, “It was a fun game. Yes, I want to play it again.” 

“You want to play games with me,” he clarified in a dark voice that made her squirm against him.

She clutched at the lapels of his robes and tried to pull him closer, but he resisted her efforts. The reception outfit made it impossible for her to fit her body to his in any satisfactory way, and she whimpered in frustration as she repeated, “Yes, Draco.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “Don’t tease me, sweetheart.”

“Then stop teasing  _ me _ ,” she countered with a moan. She tugged harder at his robes. “Kiss me, Dr- Mmmm!” 

He kissed her almost roughly, devouring her words. His lips pushed and pulled, suckled and bit, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth in deep strokes. When they broke apart to catch their breath, he said in a voice deepened with adrenaline, “Every fantasy, Hermione. We’re going to fulfill them all.”

“Mine, too,” she added in a happy, breathless voice.

In the blink of an eye the sexy, confident man who had just reduced her to a needful, writhing mess morphed back into her gentle, playful young man. He pressed his mouth to hers lovingly and said huskily, “You have no idea how much I love the pictures you gave me today.”

Hermione curled her arms around his neck, running hers fingers through the soft strands of his hair. She kissed the corner of his beautiful mouth and whispered, “I’ll look forward to you telling me.”

“ _ I’ll _ look forward to  _ showing _ you,” he countered. Someone was calling to them. Draco stepped back, much to Hermione’s dismay, and gave her a lopsided smile. “Time to go.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps you should head back; I need a moment.”

She nodded apologetically. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” Knowing he needed to . . .  _ adjust _ . . . or whatever it was that men called it when their trousers got too tight, she turned toward Lucius.

The elder Malfoy stood where she and Draco had left him, holding out his hand to her. Hermione went to him at once, curling into the broad warmth of his chest. “I’m sorry to have interrupted, but from the sounds of it Molly is nearly done,” he said quietly.

Hermione paused to listen, and agreed. Whatever it was Molly had needed to discuss, it was being wrapped up that moment. She pulled Lucius down for a quick kiss, which turned into a series of toe-curling tonguefuls. When she pulled away to breathe, she noticed his picture was still in its paper. “Why haven’t you opened it yet?”

He raised both eyebrows and said nothing for a moment. When he finally answered, his words were punctuated by the sounds of approaching footsteps on the stone path. “I refuse to be rushed.” As Molly drew near, he murmured, “Anticipation is half the pleasure, pet.”

“Here I am!” The Weasley Wife looked slightly frazzled, but her bright smile was genuine. “Are you ready to go, sweetheart?”

The young witch grinned back at the motherly witch. “Yes, Molly, I am.”

“Good, good! Let’s just Apparate to your suite, shall we?” Without even waiting for a reply, Molly spun on her heel and Disapparated.

Hermione gave one last look toward Lucius, who was watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. She darted a glance to Draco, who had just joined his brother, and blew him a kiss before returning her gaze to the elder Malfoy. When she was sure he was paying attention, she mouthed the word ‘ _ naked’ _ . Then she bit her lip to control the satisfied smirk that threatened to break through and Disapparated with a saucy  _ crack. _

  
  



	72. Friday Morning

_The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday Evening

Hermione arrived in her suite with a smirk lingering on her face. Teasing Lucius Malfoy was intensely gratifying, especially now that she was becoming increasingly aware of her power over him. She gave a silent huff of laughter as she recalled the open look of desire on his face just before she’d Disapparated. _And in a few hours he and I will . . ._ The stray thought was enough to send a frisson of nerves down her spine and a blush to her face. 

The lovely rooms were bathed in candlelight, and soft music was playing. A civil argument was being waged somewhere nearby, and the young witch followed the sound out onto the balcony. There she found Molly and Beetle in a standoff, a table set for two between them.

The Weasley Wife looked relieved to see her. “Sweetheart, I was just explaining to Beetle that I can look after you perfectly well on my own this evening.”

Beetle responded in a no-nonsense tone that outstripped Molly’s own, “Mistress Weasley does not understand the ways of this House.” 

“Errrrr, I’m afraid I don’t either,” admitted the curly-haired witch. When the elf’s eye twitched, she added quickly, “But I’d like to learn. Will you explain, please?” 

Beetle sent Molly a warning look and shook a finger in a chastising manner. “Malfoy is an elf-bound House, and tonight under the moon Lady will become our Mistress. It is proper that the elves bless her with service. Beetle attends the Lady with pride.”

_It’s not as though Beetle is going to negotiate._ “If you’re sure it won’t be too much for you,” she ventured doubtfully as she took a seat. 

It was obviously the worst thing she could have said. Beetle drew herself up, which added mere centimeters in height but _layers_ _upon layers_ of command. Her eyes, however, told a different story altogether. They looked frightened. “Does Lady dismiss me from my service?”

Lucius’ brief explanation of bound house elves came to mind. _Her life is tied to her service. She thinks I’m telling her to . . ._ Hermione couldn’t finish that thought. “No! Certainly not, and I’m sorry to have offended you! I’m . . . I’m _honored_ to be served by you, Beetle.”

The little creature seemed to relax somewhat, and she bowed her wrinkled head. “The elves of this House live to serve.” The little creature shot a triumphant glare Molly’s way before shuffling toward a serving board laden with covered dishes. “First you must be fed. There is much to do before my bedtime.”

At Beetle’s command, the dishes flew one by one to the table. When the last one had landed with a quiet _thunk_ , she Summoned a large carafe and filled their goblets. “Elf wine, summer of 1910. A very good year,” she explained. One of her joints gave a loud _pop._

A wave of guilt washed over Hermione. _I’m being served by an elf who is quite possibly the oldest in existence simply because her life is tied to her work._ _Surely there must be some way to make it easier._ She remembered how Lucius had alluded to giving her the bare minimum of work as a means to meet the requirement and said hesitantly, “Beetle, you would serve me best tonight in a different way. Sit with us and share the meal you’ve prepared, and tell me about the House you serve so faithfully.”

Beetle said reflectively, “Master requests this, too, sometimes.” She seemed to be deep in her own thoughts for a time, but finally nodded. “Very well, Lady.” She snapped her fingers and another chair and table setting appeared, and she obeyed. Summoning the wine carafe, she filled her goblet to the brim. “Just a small taste.”

Molly relaxed immediately and took the role of hostess. “I propose a toast!” She raised her glass, waiting for Hermione and Beetle to follow suit, and said, “To the House of Malfoy and its Bespoke Witch: may your covenant prosper you, and may you honor your covenant.”

“The House of Malfoy,” echoed Beetle solemnly.

Hermione stored the words in her heart, to be pondered at a later date. She raised her goblet and clinked it with the other two together happily. _To the House of Malfoy,_ she thought, _and to its Bespoke Witch. And to everyone who helped get her here tonight. Good sweet Circe, but this wine is delicious._

The moment ended. With a wave of her wand, Molly sent the covers of the serving dishes sailing to the serving board. “Well, this looks delicious! So many different things.” She looked at Beetle questioningly. “Is there a name for it?”

Hermione recognized it at once as the meal provided for her first rune ritual. “It’s mélange!” She grinned at her dinner partners. “Fruit, nuts, bread with cheese and honey, and consommé. Oh, and trifle!” Her face flamed with the images her brain now paired with that word, but the other two didn’t seem to notice.

Beetle nodded as she took a serving bowl from Molly’s outstretched hands. “Trinket used only a little brandy tonight.” That caused Hermione to snicker, and the old house elf made a face that might have been a grin. “She is a good elfling.” 

The house elf served well. She talked all through dinner, pausing now and then to eat something or to sip at her wine. It was clear she had a high tolerance for it, judging by the amount she ingested, and Hermione kept her goblet full throughout the meal. As the last spoonfuls of trifle were savored, Beetle concluded, “Then Lady accepted the war stake, and the elves of this House began to prepare for this happy day. “

Hermione interjected quietly, “You’ve all been very kind to me.”

Beetle raised ancient eyes to meet the gaze of the curly-haired witch. “We have lived in the hope of you, Lady.”

At the pause that followed that statement, Molly took charge again. She said in a motherly tone that brooked no argument, “All right, enough dawdling! It’s time you had a bath and began to get ready. We have a lot to get done.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, motioning for the other two to join her. To Beetle she offered kindly, “Tell us about Lucius and Draco. I’ll bet you have all kinds of stories to tell about those two!”

Beetle climbed stiffly from her chair, taking both her goblet and the wine carafe, and followed. Hobbling slowly she said, “Mistress Calpurnia died when Master Lucius was a babe.” At a sympathetic noise from Molly, the elf clarified, “It was a good thing. _Wicked_ that woman was, and would have ruined our boy.” When they reached the dressing room she paused. “Time to unseal your dress, Lady.” She gave a snap of her fingers and continued talking as the dress reverted to its previous torn state. “Master Abraxas was a cruel man, but we kept the son away from him when we could. Such a quiet boy was Master Lucius. Always with his flowers and the Thestrals.”

Molly’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile when she took in the wide-ripped skirt of the reception dress, but she said nothing.

Neither did Hermione, although she blushed deeply and was exceedingly grateful for Beetle’s diverting narrative. Her heart gave a painful squeeze at the accompanying mental images for the few words the old elf had used, even as her body reveled in the freedom her torn and gaping dress offered. She sank onto one of the dressing room couches and gestured to the open seats nearest her. “Please,” she urged gently, “tell me more.” _Good and Gracious Merlin, I can finally breathe!_

Beetle made a wheezy sound that could have been a laugh and clambered onto the low couch with effort. “Already the Lady orders me about. But I will tell you gladly of your elder wizard. Beetle rocked Master Lucius to sleep and taught him not to eat poison plants. Packed his trunk for school each fall and cried when he left. Used a stinging hex on his backside when he spoke back, and cried along with him after.” She sighed sadly. “Taught him to be so tidy, his clothes rarely need washing.”

From Molly’s empathetic expression, Hermione guessed that Beetle was experiencing all the emotions of a mother whose child was grown. Aloud she responded, “It sounds to me as though he’d be lost without you.” _I’d like to hear her tell the history of the family as she knows it, and then write it down_ . An idea sprang up in her brain, and she smiled to herself. _I know a job that’s even easier than laundry._ “What about Draco? I’m sure he was a very sweet boy.”

The elf drained her goblet, hiccupping as she pointed an authoritative finger at the carafe. As Molly dutifully filled it to the rim, Beetle answered, “Master Lucius was most selfish with his boy! The elves had to fight for time with Master Draco. Such a beautiful child.” 

The Weasley Wife made a noise of agreement. “That he was. We started calling him our little prince. Oh, but Severus _loved_ that, even though it was only a nickname!” For a minute she looked as though she was forcing herself back to the present. “And speaking of beautiful, we still haven’t decided what you’re going to wear to the ritual. I cannot believe that . . . that _bitch_ took your dress!”

Hermione waved the thought away dismissively. “Anything from my trousseau will do. It doesn’t matter.” Between the elf wine she’d ingested and the fact that she could now curl up in a comfortable manner, she found it difficult to be worried about much of anything. _And I could always do as Lucius suggested and just wear the veil. Talk about being naked!_ Then she thought of what would happen after the ritual, and a flutter of nerves settled in her stomach. She quelled _that_ thought immediately. _Focus on the present._

“Of course it matters, Hermione! It’s your wedding,” Molly gasped reproachfully. “What would Lucius and Draco say?”

_They’d say wear the veil._ She imagined doing just that, and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered madly. _Whatever I wear, it won’t be on very long. Aaagh! Think of something else!_ She offered, “Something with a lot of buttons, then.”

Beetle gave a loud hiccup and curled up on the soft leather couch. “Do not fret about the dress, Lady. Beetle will just close her eyes and think about what is to be done.” She was snoring almost immediately.

The motherly redhead gave a hearty sigh. “Well, there’s one less thing for me to do! You go have a nice soak and I’ll put my feet up for a bit. The bath’s all drawn.” She added sternly, “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears!”

_I wonder if Molly treats everyone like this._ Hermione visualized her mother-figure lunching with the Minister of Magic and making him take three bites of everything on his plate. As she walked toward the bathroom she looked over her shoulder and said, “I’m not _five_ , Molly.”

“Sorry!” Molly grimaced apologetically as if she’d just realized what she’d done. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not just you. Yesterday I asked Charlie if he was wearing clean pants.” 

In the bathroom Hermione stripped down and removed the beautiful shields she’d worn all day, but not before she paused to admire her image in the nearest mirror. _Draco’s not going to know what hit him . . ._ She forced herself back to the current conversation, relieved to know that Molly’s patronizing manner was an automatic response. In the spirit of progress she called to her mother-figure, “Why don’t we start again, and talk as adults?” The words were barely out of her mouth when she realized exactly what it was she’d just done. _Mother of Merlin, I’ve just . . ._ She hurriedly made her way to the fragrant, steaming tub and climbed in. _Maybe if I hide underwater she won’t be able to find me._

Molly seemed to forget her original plan. She charged into the bathroom and perched on the wide ledge of the tub. “Oh, how lovely! Now,” she rubbed her hands together, “Let’s talk about tonight.” 

“Errrrr . . .” was all the young witch could manage. _Brightest witch of the age, my sainted aunt! All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, but no – I had to reassert my maturity like an idiot!_ “Maybe we could talk about the reception first,” she hedged.

“Good idea! Tell me, how was your visit with Astoria and her wizards?” Molly leaned forward, eyes dancing. 

Hermione gave an inward groan and reached for the shampoo, which was ironically labeled ‘Serenity’. _Of course she’d go straight there. Why would she want to talk about something ordinary like ice cream flavors, or what Neville Longbottom’s grandmother wore?_ “It was . . . enlightening,” she offered cautiously as she began lathering her tresses.

“Oh, I’m sure it was!” Molly chirped.

Hermione made a noncommittal noise and hid under the water again as she remembered Astoria’s shocking entrance. The Ravenclaw witch had floated in on the heels of the Nott wizards, wearing nothing more than copious amounts of jewelry and a manic gleam in her eye. 

Molly was ready when she came up for air. “I’m sure they didn’t stay long.”

“Nope.” _That wine packs a punch_ , Hermione mused. Her extremities were tingling in a pleasant way, and her cheeks felt warm. _Between that and this tub, an unsuspecting witch could let her guard down quite easily._ She reached for the conditioner.

“And did you have a nice chat? Astoria’s such a sweet girl.” Molly gazed at her innocently. 

Hermione blindly dumped an entire handful of the slippery stuff into her outstretched hand and then began working it through her hair furiously as she growled, “No, because she was wearing a bejeweled ball gag. _Bejeweled. Ball. Gag._ Molly, she was gagged!” The words left her mouth of their own volition, and Hermione realized she’d let her guard slip. The wine was definitely not helping in that regard. Now that she’d actually begun talking, though, the words wouldn’t stop. “I had to sit in the same room with a _naked_ Astoria Greengrass, who knelt at the feet of her wizards, for _fifteen minutes_! I had to listen to Mr. Nott croon to her about what a good girl she’d been, and how she was going to be rewarded with _cock_! For Merlin’s sake, Molly, there’s such a thing as decency! And dignity! _My_ _dignity_!” Her voice had risen to a shriek by the end of her rant, but dropped to a mutter as she finished, “Sweet Circe, I’ll never be able to look any of them in the eye again.”

Molly was still smirking. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with a little reward, now and then - although in the case of cock, the bigger the better!” She must have noticed that Hermione’s wasn’t amused because she added, “Oh, come on, sweetheart. It sounds as though they were practicing erotic humiliation. Astoria must have wanted that, otherwise they’d never have done it. But if _they_ weren’t embarrassed, I don’t see why _you_ need to be.”

Hermione performed a rapid self-evaluation. She felt much better after her rant; so much so, in fact, that she wondered if talking to Molly about _some_ things might be all right. She smoothed the conditioner through her hair and ventured, “I didn’t even get to talk with her.” 

“I suspect that’s what really upset you. You were looking forward to having a visit with your friend; maybe talk about tonight. After all, regardless of her lifestyle preference you and Astoria have more in common than most.” Molly changed subjects abruptly. “I had the loveliest chinwag with Luna yesterday while we were clearing the lower fields of narleywhickets.”

Hermione held up her hand in protest, inadvertently flinging a blob of conditioner at Molly. “Wait, wait, wait. You cleared the fields of-“

“Narleywhickets,” Molly finished with a smile. “Don’t ask me whether they’re real or not; it doesn’t matter. Whenever Luna brings them up, she’s usually talking about something else altogether. I think she just wanted to have a private conversation about someone she cares about very much: _you_.”

“You’re saying she doesn’t actually see imaginary things,” mused the curly-haired witch.

Molly made a good-natured, exasperated noise. “I’m _saying_ , sweetheart, that magical creatures aside, Luna is a very observant young woman and a loyal friend.”

Hermione’s curiosity was piqued. “What did she say?”

“That June is hatching time for narleywhickets,” Molly said with a soft smile. “And that she knows what it’s like to be motherless. I would never presume to take your mother’s place, but I hope you know I count you as one of my own.“

“I’m glad to have you, Molly. I feel selfish sometimes, the way you drop everything to help me,” here Hermione’s voice grew quieter as she admitted, “but I love it when you do.”

Molly wore a look of pained pleasure as she pressed a hand over her heart. “Oh, my sweet girl! _Always_. And I will always be here to talk with you about anything.” She pulled a comical face. “No bejeweled ball gags for me.”

Hermione choked out a reluctant laugh. Then her quick brain calculated the trajectory of this conversation, and her eyes narrowed as she said, “Luna meant _sex_ , didn’t she? That you should talk to me about _sex_ . I might be a blushing virgin, Molly, but I’m not an ignorant one. I know the mechanics of it, and I’ve had the distinct and dubious privilege of seeing numerous variations of it performed by your daughter and her two partners in crime _repeatedly_ . I’m not sure how many questions I have left.” _For you especially._

“Honestly, Hermione! Everything isn’t about sex, you know!” Molly sounded a bit miffed. “ _Actually_ , Luna was talking about losing her mother at such a young age, and forging her bond with Harry and Ginny without any guidance. Luna saw the correlation with your own situation; you’re both motherless girls entering exceptional relationships.” 

Hermione gave a weary sigh and attempted one last avoidance technique. “How do you even know about erotic humiliation?” She began rinsing her hair, postponing the answer she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted.

Molly waved a hand in a vague gesture. “Abbott introduced me to kink. It wasn’t really my thing, but he was very persuasive.” 

When no steamy anecdote followed that statement, it occurred to Hermione that Molly Weasley was actually trying to respect her boundaries. She decided to meet her halfway. “I’m quite certain Lucius wasn’t happy with the visit, although he was polite as always.”

“Oh, good heavens!” Molly giggled loudly. “I would have paid _Galleons_ to see his expression! I think you’ll find the current House of Malfoy to be very conservative, and by that I mean they prefer to be clothed in public.” 

“Well, thank Circe for small favors,” joked the young witch. _I’d hex their testes off if either so much as suggested such a thing._ “Did it bother your other husbands? When you and Abbott . . . you know.”

“A House Wife has one marriage, but her relationships with each of her husbands are individual. Not everything is shared with everyone.” Molly Summoned some towels from a closet. 

Hermione considered that statement. “That makes sense.”

“But remember that every marriage – regardless of the number of partners – is different. When all of my husbands were alive, I had four very distinct relationships that rarely overlapped outside of the House bed. Somehow I don’t think that will be true for you.”

Hermione regarded the motherly witch pensively. _She’s right. Lucius and Draco seem to need each other, and that shouldn’t change. I won’t just be getting to know them as individuals, but as a pair._ Thoughts of the House bed swirled in her brain, causing her to shiver with both nerves and anticipation. _And we’ll worship each other._

Molly got up and turned toward the door. “I’ll go see if Beetle has solved our wardrobe problem yet. Finish up in here and we can talk as you get ready.”

Hermione’s brain whirred busily as she complied. _Do I have questions I can ask Molly?_ She smoothed oil into her skin. _Of course I do!_ Then she slipped on her rune shields, remembering Draco’s request of the previous evening, and wrapped herself in her robe. _But do I WANT to ask her?_ Halfway to the dressing room she concluded that knowledge was power regardless of the source. _Yes. Yes I do._ Her chin came up in a determined manner. _I am Gryffindor!_ A mere millisecond later she added, _and I’m probably going to regret this later._

Beetle was absent, and the young witch concluded the elf must be looking for a suitable replacement dress. _I wonder how many places a potential wedding gown could be kept in the Manor._ She sat down at her dressing table, began smoothing Sleakeazy’s through her hair and said, “Tell me about the full moon ritual, please.”

The request had barely left her mouth when Beetle reappeared carrying a bundle that was bigger than she. Hermione watched through her mirror as the elf held it out to Molly imperiously and said, “It must be ironed and hung.” 

The Weasley Wife complied with the order at once. As she bustled about, she spoke. “It’s like a handfasting, but with much heavier layers of magic. Albus and I will escort you as your guardians, and representatives from some of the Houses will stand guard around the site. There are a lot of runes involved, and your covenant will draw from these and participate to a point. There’ll be an Unspeakable to perform the ritual, of course. The ritual is a closely guarded secret.”

Despite all the information divulged, Hermione focused on only one thing. “What do you mean, ‘the covenant will participate?” She began wand-drying her hair.

Beetle took up her former position on the couch, goblet in hand. She said solemnly, “Before the Fall of Four, when the Twenty-Eight runes united under a waxing moon, the covenants walked as wizards.”

At Hermione’s inquisitive look Molly explained sadly, “The Houses of Gaunt, Prewett, Crouch and Black have fallen.”

A feeling of wistful pride flooded her being, and Hermione recognized the presence of the family magic. “Tell me more, please.”

The ancient house elf hummed reminiscently. “The Twenty-Eight runes combined and drew dark magic. The covenants fed from it and took form. Those were the days when the Houses were mighty and ruled both Muggles and magic-kind.” She glanced toward Molly, who was just finishing steaming the gown. “You missed a spot.”

There was another flare of alien emotion within Hermione’s being, this one far stronger than the last. _You were there. You remember it all._ Aloud she asked, “And now?”

“Now we divide into groups of smaller magical numbers. It isn’t as powerful, but it satisfies the covenants. That’s what makes it possible to hold more than one ritual in one night,” Molly explained. “Tonight we’re divided between here and Nott Manor.”

There was a slight pause as the younger witch reflected on what she’d just learned and the other two remembered the past. _Forget a job - I’m going to research Pure-blood society and write about it for the rest of my life._ Hermione finished drying the last section of her hair and applied a light beauty charm. _Of course, I’ll have to make time for Lucius and Draco as well . . ._ she grinned to herself. _Lucky, lucky witch!_

Suddenly Beetle set down her goblet and struggled to her feet. “Enough talk. The ritual draws nigh.”

Molly sprang into action at once. She crossed the room and pulled Hermione up from the dressing table. “Come _on_ , sweetheart! Off with your robe - it’s time to paint your runes!”

The ‘lot of runes’ Molly had mentioned previously happened to include a series painted on the bare skin of the Bespoken one. For the next half hour, Hermione stood in varying states of undress, blushing furiously and flinching madly as the Weasley Wife daubed the symbols over her ticklish body under the direction of Beetle. The paint felt sticky at first and smelled faintly of berries, but once dried it was quickly forgotten. 

The house elf named each one after it was applied in vivid red and blue paint. “The mark of Wisdom,” she said as Molly painted a delicate symbol on her forehead. When the Weasley Wife drew the brush over the upper curve of Hermione’s left breast in a series of intricate lines, Beetle offered, “Devotion.” The next was a large pattern over her abdomen, which was Life, and then Strength, which spanned the tops of her shoulders. The last design trailed from the back of her right knee up her inner thigh to within an inch of her . . . In the end, a single word from Beetle enabled Hermione to allow that rune’s completion: Desire.

The mood shifted to one of quiet intensity as the last rune dried, and Hermione watched silently as Molly Summoned the dress and began gathering the long skirt in her hands. When she made a move toward the closet where her undergarments were kept, she was stopped with a shake of the head and another one-word explanation: Tradition. So many things had occupied her mind this evening, and the fluttering sensation in her stomach had increased so much that she’d given little to no thought to what she would wear for her own wedding. _When Lucius told me about my dress, I was so upset about that decision being taken from me!_ She slipped off her robe and raised her arms above her head at Molly’s wordless command. _So much has changed since then._ The gown fell down over her head, each part seeming to have been tailored to her shape. She stayed motionless as Molly gently tightened the stays along her sides. _I don’t care if I wear a house elf hankie - I just want to be with him and Draco._ _OH._

The reflected witch seemed like a stranger, although Hermione had spent more time looking at her in the past three weeks than she’d done in her entire life to that point. Before her was the princess from her mother’s fairy tales, a beautiful girl garbed in a diaphanous gown of silver with a train like a comet’s tail. A mysterious symbol marked her forehead and another was partially visible along the upper swell of her breast, thanks to the wide, low, old-fashioned neckline of the garment.

Hermione ran a reverent hand over the ethereal fabric _._ It slipped and shivered against her skin, magic whispering in every thread. It was as though a piece of the finest silk gossamer had been infused with starlight. “What is this made of?”

“Fairy wings.” The hushed answer came from behind her knees, causing her to jump about a foot in the air. “A good Lady wore it long ago to wed the Malfoy wizards.”

_I’m wearing a Potions ingredient to my wedding. Draco will be pleased._ The implication of the elf’s words struck her. _This is highly significant, and she thinks I deserve to wear it._ She knelt down and locked eyes with Beetle. “Thank you. I want be a good Wife; will you help me?”

Beetle closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she opened them her eyes were full of strong emotion. “Mistress, from this day the elves of Malfoy bind ourselves to you.” Then she added gruffly, “It is past Beetle’s bedtime. Go and wed my boys, and do not pester me again tonight.” She Disapparated promptly.

Hermione stayed on her knees for a moment, committing that brief conversation to her mind and heart. _She’s a very lovable tyrant_ . _I hope she likes the new job I have planned for her._ She stood and turned to her mother-figure. 

Molly was regarding her with admiration. “Sweetheart, you look like Circe incarnate.”

Hermione stole another long look at her reflection, smiling at the compliment. She stood straight and poised, her face awash with confidence and the faintest trace of amusement. _I look like a Malfoy._ Her eye was drawn by the glittering diamonds encircling her throat. _Lucius will be pleased. So will Draco, for that matter,_ she thought as her gaze dropped to where her rune shields glittered through the sheer fabric of the gown. _Sheer_. Realization struck, and she screeched, “Molly, this is transparent!” 

“Oh, hush, Hermione! Do you honestly think Beetle, who knows your wizards better than anyone else _and_ whose goal is to serve your House to the best of her ability, would let you traipse naked in public?” Molly was back to sounding miffed.

Hermione looked at her reflection again and argued, “The evidence says otherwise! I can see my outline through it; Merlin, I can see that rune you _insisted_ on drawing up my inner thigh, _along with everything else!_ ” She hoisted the skirt of her dress and stormed toward the nearest closet.

“What are you doing?” cried Molly, following behind. “Oh, no – absolutely not! No shoes, and no undergarments!” She jerked the offending pieces of lace out of Hermione’s hands.

“Absolutely _yes_!” The young witch simply grabbed another set and leaned down to slip into the knickers.

Molly sounded frustrated as she said with a sigh, “Sweetheart, stop. _Now_.” When Hermione paused warily the motherly witch continued, “I would have thought it was obvious after having worn your engagement dress.”

_Yes, but only The Malfoy wizards and I could see through that one-_ Comprehension dawned and she winced apologetically. “Oh. Well, that makes sense.” _In my defense, I’ve spent a good portion of the past three weeks trying to avoid becoming deviant. Suspicion has become second nature._ She returned the undergarments to their place in the closet.

The Weasley Wife shook her head with a helpless shrug and handed Hermione’s wand to her. “It’s nearly time.” She pressed a maternal kiss to the young witch’s cheek and asked lovingly, “Before we leave, is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”

Hermione looked at the motherly witch before her. She was uninhibited, overbearing, and seven kinds of cunning but in spite of that she was everything that Hermione admired. She was kind, and helpful, and quick to laugh at herself. Most of all, Molly was . . . she was _fearless_ . _I want to be like her._ The words hung in her consciousness for a few seconds, and then she acted on them. “Tell me the most important thing to know about tonight. About after the ritual,” she said in a strong voice.

Molly gathered the young witch into her arms, pressing her head down to one ample shoulder. She rubbed Hermione’s back gently and spoke in a quiet voice. “Lucius will take you to his bed and make a Wife of you. Don’t let that brain of yours make it into anything more than a continuation of what the two of you have already started. Trust Lucius; he’s a very good man. As eldest Malfoy, he may keep you in his bed until you wish to leave, at which point you should return here to prepare for Draco.”

_It’ll be on my terms._ Hermione raised her head and held Molly’s gaze. “And then?”

The Weasley Wife smiled lovingly and patted her cheek. “Then you go to Draco. He’ll be waiting for you.” Here Molly made a sympathetic noise. “He’ll be unsure of himself, and most likely worried about living up to your expectations, but I’ve seen the two of you together and everything will be fine. Spend as much time with him as you did Lucius, and then-“

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione croaked, suddenly an even bigger bundle of nerves (which seemed to be concentrated in her stomach), “the House bed! Molly, I don’t know if-“

The Weasley Wife placed a hand over Hermione’s mouth and grinned. “But of course you do, sweetheart! You’ve already had two practice runs.” She raised an eyebrow and nodded meaningfully. “And from what I gleaned from Fleur and your wizards, you most certainly _practiced_.”

Hermione blushed. “I just don’t want to . . .” _fail,_ she finished inwardly. 

Molly seemed to know exactly what she’d meant. “You’re not going to fail, Hermione, because this isn’t a test. It’s just one night in the course of a lifetime.” She chuckled. “And believe me, if you decide you need remedial help, I know two wizards who’ll be falling all over themselves to tutor you.”

Hermione nodded uncertainly. She managed a wavering smile and said, “Can you believe it? This Gryffindor is a bit of a coward.”

“Pish!” Molly scoffed. “There’s nothing cowardly about you; you’re simply cautious, and there’s a lot of wisdom in that trait. You’re as much Slytherin as you are Gryffindor.” She patted the young witch’s cheek gently. “Tonight, however, you’ll need your maroon and gold. _Be a lioness_.” 

Suddenly there were so many questions Hermione wanted to ask Molly, and she bitterly regretted the time she’d wasted to this point. _Dignity and self-respect only go so far - I could have gotten perspective!_ “Please; if there was one thing you’d have liked to know before you got married, what would it have been?”

The redheaded witch grasped Hermione’s hand in a comforting manner. “Desire isn’t only about lust and heat and sweat,” She said softly. “It’s comfort, and the feel and smell of the wizards you love. Each new thing builds on the last, and each is done together.”

Hermione pulled Molly into a fierce hug. She whispered, “I couldn’t have asked for a better second mother.”

Molly was far too emotional at that point to do more than blink and swallow rapidly. Finally she said in a thick voice, “Come, daughter. Your House awaits.” She pulled Hermione against her tightly and spun on her heel, Apparating the two of them.

They arrived just outside the front entrance of the manor, under the portico. When Hermione had recovered from the Side-Along Apparition she released her death-grip on Molly and stepped away. “Where to?” She noticed with pleasure that her dress glowed in the moonlight, but grimaced at the feel of the cold flagstones under her bare feet.

The Weasley Wife laughed quietly. “Hermione, a bride doesn’t _burst_ into her wedding; she waits for the cue to enter,” she said in an amused tone. “While we do that, why don’t you put that exceptional brain of yours to work paying attention to what I say?” When Hermione nodded she continued, “Remain silent until we enter the site, and then speak only when spoken to. The ceremony is simple enough, although there are a few things that might-“ Molly stopped short as a green flare lit the sky. She patted Hermione’s shoulder and grabbed her hand. “Well, that was fast. Come on, then!” She turned and pulled Hermione toward the north side of the manor.

“A few things that might _what_?” hissed Hermione as they rounded the corner of the gigantic house. They walked along the paved path until they came to the outer half of Lucius’ rose garden. There were fairies flitting about the plants, and when the young witch approached they came to hover around her, fascinated with her gown. The sight caused a series of unrelated thoughts to spin through her mind, and she asked, “Wait, Minerva never came tonight!”

“She fell asleep at dinner and Albus took her back to Hogwarts.” At Hermione’s look of concern she asked, “Would you really have wanted Minerva near that elf wine? And have a little faith in our traditions,” Molly added in a hushed, exasperated tone. “If we’re very quiet, I can explain here and there. Here we are.” The air was heavy with the fragrance of the flowers and a low, steady pulse that could only be magic. The musical laughter of the fairies only added to the atmosphere. 

There at the back, between the fountain and the wall of the manor, was a spot that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight: the warded site. The heavily shrouded representatives of the Pure-blood Houses stood guard around it facing inward, and each was casting a charm over it. They were chanting together quietly. As the two witches drew near, glowing symbols could be seen marking the ground around the circle. _Those are the House runes_ , Hermione thought in awe. The closer they got, the stronger that pulse of magic got, and with it the strangest sensation that every living thing in the garden was participating.

“The Houses have cast their runes,” Molly whispered. “Albus will meet us, and then we’ll enter.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the Headmaster came out of the shadows nearby. He bowed to them and presented Molly with a wreath of roses. Then he offered his arm to Hermione gallantly, and she took it.

Molly set the wreath on Hermione’s head. “Magic and earth combined to make this witch, and we do welcome both here this night.” She kissed both of the young witch’s cheeks and took her other hand. “Come, daughter; under the waxing moon you will be made a Wife.”

As they came to the site, the two guards nearest them turned and said in unison, “The ancient House of Malfoy awaits its Bespoken one.”

The rest of echoed, “The House of Malfoy.” The chanting resumed.

“We bring the one of whom you speak,” said the Headmaster. “She took the stake and bears the runes. Will you grant us entrance?”

The same two guards lowered their wands, and the wards rippled in front of them. Just as they were about to enter, however, one of the guards said in a deep, familiar voice, “Relinquish your wands or leave this place.”

Professor Dumbledore and Molly handed theirs over at once, and Hermione obeyed reluctantly. She glanced up at the guard who took it, surprised to see that it was Kingsley Shacklebolt under the hooded robes.

He winked at her and waved his large hand toward the site. Aloud he said, “Bring the Bespoke Witch, then, that Malfoy may claim its own.”

That small, kind gesture stilled some of the butterflies in Hermione’s stomach. She all but pulled her guardians through the lowered wards, hesitating only when they’d all three crossed over the threshold. Inside, the site bore no resemblance to the garden other than the grass beneath their feet and the fairies that still hovered around her dress. The air was heavy, and the moonlight streamed weakly through the wards, causing most of the circle to be cast in deep shadows. Her luminescent gown and the wings of the now quiet fairies stood out in stark contrast. She looked around, unconsciously tightening her grip on Molly’s hand.

The Weasley Wife squeezed it back and breathed, “Dark magic amplified by the runes. Your covenant will awaken soon.”

That made no sense to Hermione. _It’s always awake,_ she thought, _it just doesn’t always participate_. She said nothing, as Molly had instructed, but nodded. Then her nose was assailed by the faint yet unmistakable scent of her wizards, and she looked again for Lucius and Draco.

They stood together on the far side of the circle, their eyes locked on Hermione. They wore dress robes and were also barefoot. At the center of the circle was a short, thick figure clad in the distinctive robes of an Unspeakable, head covered by a deep hood. 

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding as a feeling of relief flooded her being. She gave a small, self-conscious smile, switching her gaze every few seconds between the two men. 

Lucius regarded her with heavy-lidded triumph, his eyes managing to both smolder and twinkle at the same time. His handsome mouth bore the faintest trace of a smile as he looked back at her.

Draco, on the other hand, was pale and wide-eyed. For a moment Hermione thought it might be caused by his recent head injury, but soon realized her younger wizard was _terrified_. His posture, his clenched hands, his deer-in-the-headlamps expression all spoke to this.

The two sets of emotions represented the dichotomy of her own feelings. She was by turns excited and happy, and then sick with nerves. _If only I could stand between them I’d feel fine!_

Just then the Unspeakable stepped forward and raised both hands moonward. A woman’s voice came from underneath the hood. “We gather under the moon to witness this joining under the protection of the ancient magics.” The Unspeakable turned toward Lucius and Draco. “Malfoy, is this the witch for whom you cast? Is this the one who bears your mark?”

“She is,” they answered together. “She is our Bespoken one.”

The figure turned toward Hermione now. “Witch, do you come here of your own volition?”

At a nudge from Molly, Hermione answered breathlessly, “Yes.” Her heart began beating in a slightly faster rhythm.

“Come, then, and hear the vows of your House.”

Hermione allowed herself to be guided across the site to the Unspeakable, Molly and the Headmaster still holding her hands firmly. They stopped when they stood slightly to one side of the shrouded woman, and directly facing Lucius and Draco. Her heart rate increased yet again as the Unspeakable said to the Malfoy wizards, “If you will have this witch, she is yours.”

Lucius replied, “We will have her.” His eyes slid to hers for a second, flashing with an intensity that lit a spark in Hermione’s churning gut. 

“And how will you keep her?’ The woman asked.

Draco answered, “She will dwell with us in the halls of our House.” He looked nauseous, but managed an almost-smile.

“She will be bathed in honor and wrapped in glory,” added Lucius, his eyes dipping down over her figure for a fraction of a second.

_Wait, I’ve heard these before!_ Hermione recognized these vows instantly as the ones that had been said at their binding ceremony. She flushed under Lucius’ appreciative glance. _And this time I can actually enjoy them._

Draco responded, “She will be filled with sons by us, and she will birth our champions.” He blushed.

She focused on the beauty of the ancient litany and the knowledge that every Malfoy bride before her had heard these same words. And she realized that Astoria had been right at their first meeting: these vows were _hot_ . Three weeks ago Hermione might have concerned that the words might be meant literally, but tonight she hoped they _were_. 

“She will sit between us and sleep in our bed, and her breast shall bear our mark,” concluded Lucius. He sent another smoldering look her way.

The Unspeakable turned to Hermione with an outstretched hand. When the young witch had taken it, she asked her, “Will you be kept in this way by the House of Malfoy?”

“Yes.” Hermione’s answer was immediate and sure. Her heart was pounding again, and the fluttering sensation in her stomach was increasing.

“Will you follow its covenant?” Asked the woman.

She was aware of the covenant pricking up its ears at the question and could almost _feel_ its smirk. “Yes.” _Please help me calm down._

“Will you keep the traditions of the ancient Houses and teach them to your children?”

_If I survive this ritual, then yes. Absolutely. My children will be well informed in every possible subject, especially Pure-blood traditions._ “Yes.”

The Unspeakable ordered, “Join hands.” When they’d done so, she performed an intricate spell in the air above, sending golden tendrils of light curling around their knot of hands. 

The magic licked along Hermione’s skin pleasantly before it slipped underneath and traveled throughout her body. It was warmth and light and _amusement_ , and the curly-haired witch recognized the sentient magic of the Malfoy covenant. _It’s providing all the magic for the ceremony_ , she guessed. The magic settled in her heart and stomach like a calming potion, and she thanked the covenant profusely.

The Unspeakable began the next segment. “A House is founded on its warriors and furthered by its Wife. Who takes up the burden of care for this witch?”

Lucius started this time, his eyes lingering on Hermione’s mouth as he said, “By my hand shall her lips be fed.”

She remembered the first time he’d fed her, and how unprepared she’d been for her body’s response. _What if that happens tonight? What if I panic?_ The butterflies in her stomach returned, but to a lesser extent. 

“By my hand shall her body be clothed, “ responded Draco. Her younger wizard’s voice had grown steadily stronger throughout the ceremony, and now he looked at her with a look of hopeful yearning.

“She will know the depth of my heart,” said the elder Malfoy in a solemn tone.

Draco finished, “And her pleasure shall be mine.” As it had at their binding ceremony his face flamed, but he held her gaze.

“Will you be cared for in this manner, Bespoke Witch?” The Unspeakable asked.

Hermione attempted to quell her nerves by sheer force of will and said steadily, “Yes.” Inwardly she sought out the presence of the family magic. _Where did you go? I need you!_

“Between the earth and the waxing moon these vows are sealed, and the covenant of this ancient House draws nigh. Malfoy, accept the blessing of your covenant.”

During the second part of the ritual, the air had begun thickening to an even greater extent, but the previously weak light had slowly increased until the warded site was as bright as midday. Now the hairs on the back of Hermione’s neck began to stand on end, and at her sides the Headmaster and Molly bowed their heads reverently. 

The air seemed to become somewhat solid at a point nearby and a vague, transparent shape began to grow. It was enormous, magically powerful, and slightly terrifying, until it spoke in an oddly familiar voice. A voice that was Other and also slightly amused. “Greetings, little Bespoken One. I see you have not run away screaming yet.”

Out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw her wizards watching her intently. The way Lucius’ head had snapped between her and the family magic, she guessed he hadn’t been expecting such an opening line from it. She let out a breath of relief. _Oh, thank goodness. It’s you!_ “Errrrr, there’s probably still time for that, so don’t push your luck.” 

A throaty chuckle vibrated through the room. “You will bring light to this House, witch.”

The conversation was such a natural continuation of their internal dialogues that Hermione completely forgot about the others. She teased, “I’ll probably bring a good deal more than that, and not all good. You _know_ how difficult I can be.”

Another wave of amusement washed over the area. “And do you still demand control, Mistress of Malfoy?”

Hermione reflected for a moment and responded, “Not nearly as much as before. I’ve grown accustomed to your bossy ways.” She paused and asked impishly, “Are we going to repeat that entire conversation?”

“Perhaps. That was the first time I had spoken in a great while, and I enjoyed it very much. Tell me, witch, have you considered my offer?”

_I don’t see what was so enjoyable about me having a nervous breakdown_ , she groused internally. _And I know you can hear me thinking. You don’t miss much, do you?_ “The one where I trust you blindly?” she asked with a satisfying roll of the eyes. “Yes, I have; and I’m willing to take it.” She added in a warning tone, “It won’t be easy for me.”

“I told you once: you are not the first Wife I have guided,” the presence said in its alien voice, “although I have not met such a one as you since my awakening. Together we will bring glory as yet unseen to the House of Malfoy.”

Hermione squirmed under the mixture of praise and promise, countering, “And I warned you that if you cause my husbands one moment of needless pain or anguish, I will reject you with every part of my body and mind. Mess up, and you’ll have no Wife for your House.”

The covenant chuckled once more, sending vibrations through the air. “Well spoken, little Bespoke Witch. You will trust me, and I will prosper you and your House. So shall it be.”

“Agreed.” She cast another glance around the bright space, taking in the expressions of the people around her. They all seemed to be following the conversation avidly, but with shock and awe. “Why does everyone look that way?”

It chuckled again. “We covenants do not converse with just anyone. You took the runes of the Great One, whom I guided to birth the foundations of this House, but even before then I saw your destiny.” 

“I’m flattered?” The statement sounded more like a question to Hermione’s ears.

“My time in this form is fleeting, but know that I am with you always. Now hush, and accept the blessing I bestow.”

She was tempted to ask exactly what sort of blessing that might be, but she bit her tongue and decided to practice a bit of blind trust. _But if you love me, don’t let it be births of multiples. One baby at a time, please._

The covenant filled the site with a feeling of immense delight, and at the same time Hermione felt it brush against her mind and skin in a very feline way. Beside her, Molly and Professor Dumbledore both shuddered but kept their heads bowed low. It sent a comforting sensation curling around her body, tempting Hermione to reach out and run her hand over it. The ancient family magic rolled through her mind with satisfaction and said aloud, “This witch is our own, to be recognized and protected by all the ancient covenants. Harm her, and bear our wrath.” Then it was gone from the site, and curled back up around the edge of Hermione’s awareness as if it were napping.

She waited for someone to speak, remembering Molly’s instructions, but when the silence had stretched out for an uncomfortably long time Hermione blurted, “Errrrr, what’s next?”

The Unspeakable pushed off her hood, exposing a pleasant, plump, rosy-cheeked face. “Good heavens, Madame Malfoy! In all my days I’ve never . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head in bewilderment.

Hermione turned to Molly. “What’s next?” She waited for a response, and when none came looked to Lucius.

The elder Malfoy looked at her with an expression of pride. He held out his arms to her, pulling her close when she went to him. “I had no idea how serious you were when you said you’d communicated with it,” he murmured against her temple. “There has never been such an occurrence at a Pure-blood ritual in my lifetime, and probably not since the Fall of Four.”

“Oh, sweet Merlin, I _knew_ it. I’m a freak!” She gasped the words against Lucius’ chest, pushing against his hold on her. “Did I ruin everything?”

He let out a low, happy laugh and gave her a chaste but sound kiss. His thumb brushed against her lower lip. _Rub, rub, rub._ “You have exceeded every expectation and left us speechless as usual, pet.” Then he threw an arm around Draco, who was staring at Hermione in an adoring manner. “What say you to the concerns of our lovely prize, Draco?”

The younger Malfoy shook his head and reached hesitantly for her hand. Seemingly encouraged by her eager clutch, he replied, “Sweetheart, that was . . . You’re no freak, believe me.” 

Lucius looked between the Unspeakable and the Headmaster. “Are you satisfied with the ritual?” Now his fingers were moving in that same pattern on her lower back. _Rub, rub, rub._

The Unspeakable, who seemed to have recovered from her confusion, replied sternly, “Take her to your bed and make her yours _now_. Such a powerful conduit of dark magic must be permanently aligned with a House.” She glanced between the others. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this must remain unspoken outside this site. The last thing we need is another wizarding war.”

Hermione tucked those comments away. It didn’t seem like the time to launch a full-scale investigation, especially with the way Lucius was regarding her. Her request for help from the covenant had been answered doubly; not only had her nerves settled nicely, but she felt her body responding to her elder wizard’s ministrations. She was having difficulty looking away from him at the moment.

“We have one last part of the ritual to complete, but say good-night to Draco, pet, and then bid your guardians good-bye,” He said in his silkiest voice. “I plan to spirit you away the moment we are finished.”

The young witch shivered and complied. She approached the Headmaster first and shook his hand. “Thank you again, Professor.”

He twinkled at her kindly and patted her hand in the manner of a favorite elderly uncle. “I don’t think we’re done with each other quite yet, Madame Malfoy, but you are most welcome all the same.” He wandered away toward the Unspeakable after a genteel bow.

Hermione turned to her mother-figure and was immediately caught up in a suffocating hug. “Oof! Thank you for everything, Molly.”

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart!” Molly pinched her cheek and leaned in to say quietly, “And don’t overthink things. You’ve always been extraordinary; of course your family magic wants to befriend you! I’m not surprised in the least.” She made sure Hermione was paying attention before adding, “Each new thing builds on the last, don’t forget.”

Draco was suddenly stealing her away. He led her a few feet from the others and stood, hands shoved in his pockets for a few moments. Finally he blurted, “I don’t know how to be a husband. I don’t know _anything_ about it, I’m afraid you’ll despise me because I didn’t know what to study beforehand.”

_Oh, Draco. You and I are so very much alike, worried about failing for lack of research._ She flung her arms around him and said bravely, “I don’t know how to be any kind of wife, either; Pure-blood or otherwise. I’m afraid I won’t be any good at . . .” she hesitated and blushed. “ _You know_.”

Draco wrapped one long arm around her. He lifted her chin with a forefinger and looked down at her with an incredulous expression on his handsome, blushing face. “You’re good at everything, Hermione. If anyone disappoints in that department, it will be me.” 

Hermione reached her arms up around his neck and pulled him down to her level, snuggling into the fragrant spot between his jaw and the collar of his robes. “I love you, Draco. You could never disappoint me.” She pressed a kiss to the soft skin below his ear.

“I feel the same about you, little witch,” he murmured into her curls. “Perhaps we should agree not to worry about things that don’t matter to one another.”

She nodded against him. “I’d rather look forward to . . . those kinds of things.”

Draco pulled back slightly with a grin, his face still darkly flushed. “Do you think we’ll be this shy forever?”

“I _like_ the way you make me feel, you silly snake, even when that means I’m blushing and tripping over words.” Lucius was beckoning to them, so she pressed her lips to Draco’s mouth. It was a gentle, promising kiss, and they broke away with happy grins on their faces.

Draco tugged her back toward the others by one hand, leaning down at the last minute to whisper in her ear, “I’ll wait for you in the library, Wife. Third floor, in the back of the philosophy of magic section.”

She beamed up at him, remembering his promise from Wednesday. “Don’t forget the Courtenay treatise, husband.”

The wards were falling around them now, and the robed representatives from the attending Houses entered the site. Everyone but Hermione seemed to know exactly where to go, and in the end the House of Malfoy was surrounded. 

Molly and the Headmaster left the immediate area, but not before the she’d kissed both Lucius and Draco on the cheek and then done the newest Malfoy. “Thank you for the vacation! Just imagine: an entire fortnight at the Harmandir Sahib! Arthur and I just have to pick up our bags at The Burrow and then we’ll be off by the portkey you arranged.” She waved to Hermione and blew her a kiss as she left. “I’ll send a postcard!”

Kingsley Shacklebolt handed her wand over with kind smile. “Madame Malfoy, the remainder of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pledge to protect you and your children with our lives. We spill our blood on this spot as proof of that promise. Let it be remembered until the fall of our Houses.”

“Until the fall of our Houses,” echoed the other representatives. Each one drew a small, gleaming knife from their robes and then drew it over the palm of their left hand. Then they knelt in a tight circle around the Malfoys and pressed their bleeding hands to the ground. As one they stood and offered their cut palms to Hermione, Lucius, and Draco. 

When she looked at Lucius questioningly, she saw he had begun performing a healing charm on one. She followed suit, yelping in surprise when a strong jolt of magic jumped from her hand to the wizard’s. “What was that?”

The representative pushed back his hood, revealing the pleasant face of a silver-haired man. He smiled down at her. “Residual dark magic, Madame Malfoy. You must have absorbed more than your share.” He gestured with the hand she’d just healed. “My thanks.” Then he retreated to the edge of the site, where the rest of the heavily robed figures had begun gathering.

When the last slashed palm had been restored, Draco pulled her to him without warning. His previous terror seemed to have been allayed, and he kissed her tenderly. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t rush.”

“I don’t want you to be by yourself,” she breathed quietly. The image of him waiting alone for her was troubling.

He shook his head with a smile. “I’ll have this lot for company at least through the morning, and probably after that as well. It’s expected for Lucius to keep you to himself for at least that long. Now go, before he throws you over his shoulder.”

Hermione laughed at that idea and then realized Draco wasn’t joking at all. _Sweet Circe, that was one of my first mental images of the Malfoys_ , she mused as she fled back to her elder wizard’s side. The butterflies began fluttering in her stomach once again, and they’d obviously been reproducing during their brief absence. She sneaked a glance up at him, chewing furiously at her lip as she did so.

Lucius regarded her with a furrowed brow. He seemed deep in thought as he drew her close. “Are you ready, Wife?”

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. _So much for being a lioness._ _I wonder how Molly felt at this moment on her wedding day._

She looked once more to Draco, who was now being dragged away by the laughing House representatives. He was blushing and laughing in what looked to be good-natured embarrassment. _He’s going to be kept company while his older brother completes my corruption. While we’re . . ._

“I can hear your brain working from here,” Lucius murmured. He freed her lip from between her teeth with a gentle thumb. “What has my lovely one in such a state of worry?”

Hermione was having difficulty breathing. She blinked rapidly, hoping he’d understand she was trying to communicate. 

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to answer, Lucius leaned low and murmured against her cheek, “I’m going to take you to my bed, sweetling, and make a Wife of you.” He brushed his lips against hers tenderly and then stood to his full height. “But there is something I would like to show you first.”

Despite her nerves Hermione nearly snorted. _Oh, I’ll bet there is! It’s long, hard, and ready to . . ._ The expression on his aristocratic face, though, was earnest and slightly vulnerable. _Or maybe that wasn’t a double entendre at all. Maybe Lucius just made a gaffe._ The butterflies in her stomach settled down slightly as curiosity flooded her brain. _What does Lucius want to show me?_ She filled one hand with the soft fabric of his dress robes and spoke into the front of his shirt. “All right.” She peeked up at him inquisitively.

Her interest must have shown on her face, because he smiled down at her and pulled her against him firmly. Then he turned on his heel and spun them away in Apparition.

She would have fallen to her hands upon arrival, had not her elder husband kept her upright in his strong arms. When she’d recovered her equilibrium, Hermione stepped out of his embrace and looked around. “Where on earth are we?” They were still outside, but not in any place she recognized. It was a forest, and obviously a very, very old one, judging by the immense size of the tree trunks nearest them. Night sounds filled the area, bats swooped low overhead, and there was a rich, oaky smell in the cooling air. Under her bare feet, the thick groundcover of leaves was cold but soft. Hermione shivered, jumping nervously when Lucius draped his outer robes around her shoulders. 

He said quietly, “A place I have come all my life. Its tranquility is unrivaled. Come, pet.” Lucius set off between the trees confidently, one arm wrapped around Hermione’s shoulders. “Do you see the tree with the large scar over there? I did that accidentally the day I got my first wand. Abraxas never found out, thank Merlin.”

Hermione did, in fact, see the horribly disfigured oak. “What on earth were you trying to do?”

He gave a deep, happy laugh. “I don’t remember, but I never tried it again.”

“Why did you come here? How far is it from the manor?” Hermione craned her neck in search of other interesting landmarks, her curiosity over this new topic quickly overshadowing all else. 

Lucius chuckled and reached out to pluck a leaf from a low-lying branch. “The forest is at the far north end of the estate. I came here accidentally when I was very young and looking for a place to hide, and it became my refuge.” At Hermione’s inquisitive, upward glance, he explained, “I imagined a very big tree, and suddenly I was here. Quite terrified, too - so the elves like to remind me.”

“How old were you?” She asked.

“Young enough to still be under constant supervision; perhaps four or five.” He sighed. “Topsy was minding me that day, and we played here until it was time for dinner. I only agreed to leave when she promised to bring me back whenever I liked.”

“You were hiding because of your father,” Hermione guessed, curling her arms around his waist. It made walking side by side more difficult, but she needed to give him comfort for that old hurt.

“I did not bring you here tonight to dredge up things best left unspoken, pet.” Lucius hesitated for a moment and then added, “but I will gladly share with you happy memories of this place.”

Hermione gave a hum of understanding. “Tell me another one, then.”

They came to a small moonlit clearing and stepped into it, moving apart to walk hand in hand. “The old Thestral stable is nearby, moved here because Calpurnia couldn’t bear to have them any nearer to the manor. I found them not long after I discovered this place and they became my pets.”

Hermione cast a cynical smirk his way. “ _Thestrals_? They’re not exactly cuddly.”

“Nonsense,” Lucius said dismissively. “They’re gentle, intelligent creatures. I could see them from an early age, and we took to each other instantly.”

“What were their names, these pets of yours?” She challenged playfully.

He laughed and swung their joined hands boyishly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“Their _names_ , Lucius,” she ground out in mock warning. She tugged on his hand in a demanding manner.

He was still chuckling as he said, “Mind you, I was five years old, and learning French from a native many centuries old.” At her growl of impatience he leaned and murmured into her hair, “In old French: Gauche, Droit, Brun, Gentil, and Tenebrus.”

The admission sent Hermione into a gale of giggles. “ _Left_ and _Right_ ? _Brown_ ? _Pretty_? Lucius, did you hit your head as a tot? Thestrals aren’t any of those descriptors! And Tenebrus can’t be modern French!” She poked a teasing finger into his chest.

He smirked and caught her hand. “It made perfect sense to a little boy and an elf. And it was Grand-père Louis, I believe, who suggested Tenebrus. I used to tell him about my little adventures each night.”

Hermione imagined a sweet, blond, pajama-clad boy regaling an old painting with stories of magical creatures and smiled. “It’s odd, though,” she mused aloud. “Because Tenebrus is the name of Hagrid’s-“ At his smirk, she concluded, “You’ve been talking about them in the past tense because they’re not here any more. They’re what Hagrid calls his foundation herd!”

Lucius stepped close to her, leaning down with a grin. “The Forbidden Forest was a far better habitat for them. They went there during my fourth year.” He dropped her hand and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’re a fascinating wizard; did you know that?” Hermione tipped up her chin and twined her arms around his neck. “I want to learn everything about you.” She pressed a kiss to his chin.

He deftly caught her mouth with his and kissed her until she forgot where they were and what her name was. When they broke apart to breathe he brushed his lips across her cheek to her ear. “Then let us go, my love, and begin learning each other.”

The anxieties of the day ceased under his voice and touch. Hermione found herself nodding and stepping even closer to her elder wizard. She pulled him down for one more kiss and then whispered, “Take me to your bed, husband, and make a Wife of me.”


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh, I am so naughty! I didn't post yesterday even though I was supposed to! Maybe I should 'fess up to Mr G -- I haven't had a good swat for ages on account of being on my best behavior . . .  
> So here we are, friends -- the beginning of the end of this ridiculously big silly baby of a fic. I'm feeling a bit nostalgic right now, remembering the first time I posted this story back in the day and how exciting it was to hear it wasn't horrible. And as some of you post comments, I remember meeting you on the Fanfiction site and sharing conversations on the Virtual Veranda. It's good to meet up with you again, friends <3  
> *sniffles*  
> In local news, Baby G's most recent scheme was brutally shot down by Mr G. --she wanted an old hearse for her first own car, and he said 'Never in a million years," then in the same breath offered to buy her a tricked out Volkswagen Beetle. She fell for it and thus saved us the many complications of owning an oversized vehicle once used for the transport of expired humans.  
> Peace and love to all, and may we kick this %#@* COVID thing in the you-know-whats!
> 
> -G-

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader/Beta: CoquetteKitten

Friday night and Saturday morning

Without warning, Lucius gathered Hermione up in his arms as though she were a child and spun around wildly. He chuckled at her yelp of surprise and only held tighter when she tried to escape. “Such a troublesome minx you are, always trying to escape. Are you done struggling, my prize?” He asked with a happy, boyish smirk. At her acquiescent sigh he added, “Much better. A wizard always carries his witch to their bridal chamber.” With those words he spun once more, this time in Disapparition, and took her from the glade in the middle of his forest. 

Hermione buried her face deeply in the fragrant nook between her elder wizard’s jaw and shoulder, breathing in his scent until the world stopped spinning. When she’d recovered somewhat, she peeked out at their new surroundings. Something about the room struck her as familiar. __ It was a large, dimly lit bedchamber decorated in dark, rich fabrics and even darker, richer woodwork. One wall must have been comprised mainly of windows, because it was hung with drapery from floor to ceiling. The room was decorated in varying shades of deep green, with the exception of the bed sheets, which gleamed a soft gold in the candlelight. They peeked out from behind the half-drawn curtains of the enormous four-poster bed in a way that Hermione found both inviting and nerve inducing. Suddenly she realized what this place reminded her of.  _ It’s the domestic version of his forest _ , she thought with delight.  _ Lucius brought his refuge to the manor. _

Just then she caught sight of a large painting in an ornate frame hanging above the wide, high mantel of the fireplace, its magical inhabitant seemingly elsewhere, and all thoughts of her wedding night vanished _. That’s another one of  _ _ Grand _ - _ père _ _ Louis’ haunts _ . She could almost imagine him looking down his nose into the room as he and Lucius carried on some ribald conversation in French. Her mood shifted as she remembered exactly how much the Malfoy ancestor had seen of her already.  __ “Lucius?” She asked in a menacing growl as she pointed toward it.

He looked between her and the spot toward which she gestured with a look of puzzlement before smirking in comprehension. “He is away tonight and will not return without invitation.” In the face of her challenging glare, his usual confidence faltered and he added almost as a question, “And I will cover the frame at once?”

Hermione nodded firmly and watched as he did just that, relieved to have the issue resolved so quickly. Once the frame was draped in a heavy piece of fabric, however, her previous anxieties flooded back over her. The elder Malfoy took a step, causing the young witch to turn her attention once more to the bed, adrenaline pumping through her system. She was surprised when they continued past it and headed toward a door in the far wall. Her arms tightened around her wizard’s neck. “Where are we going?”

The door opened before them at some wandless magic on Lucius’ part. “To wash, of course,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Our feet are covered in Merlin-knows-what.”

It was such a mundane statement for so momentous a night that Hermione laughed aloud. She teased, “Are you saying I’m not fit for your bed, Lucius?”

They entered a large, opulent bathroom that put the one in Hermione’s suite to shame. He looked down at her with twinkling eyes. “On the contrary, pet; I think you are the perfect size for it.”

__ “But I’m  _ dirty _ ,” she goaded impishly, and with that simple exchange the fluttering in her stomach began to recede as the two fell into their pattern of effortless, playful banter. She noticed her toothbrush by the sink, and that simple homely item seemed to confirm that she was indeed meant to be here.

Lucius grinned and stole a kiss before setting her down on a chair near the tub. “Yes, my lovely one is a filthy witch, and I intend to restore her to her former pristine state.” He helped her out of his outer robes, which she’d been wearing since their forest trip, and hung them on a hook.

_ And then you’re going to take me to your bed and teach me to be a very, VERY dirty witch. _ A frisson of nerves ran along her spine at his words. Suppressing the feeling she countered, “ _ Just _ feet, though. I’ve soaked and scrubbed so many times today, the mere  _ idea _ of another bath makes me want to scream.” It was true; she still had a bit of water in her ears from her most recent immersion.

Lucius chuckled as he removed his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up over his forearms. “As much as I anticipate your cries tonight, I prefer them to be for a different reason altogether.” He turned on the faucets, testing the water until it was to his liking, and then Summoned a shallow basin from a nearby cupboard. When it was filled with water, he placed it at her feet and reached to a nearby high shelf for towels and a flannel. Setting them down on the floor, he knelt before her. “Let me wash your feet, pet.” 

The humility of the gesture filled Hermione’s heart with a fierce, protective love for her elder wizard. Lucius was many things: he was supremely confident, he was cunning, and he was highly intelligent. Underneath those most obvious traits, though, was a man who, once sure of the intentions of others, seemed to find great fulfillment in loving and serving unconditionally.  _ And no one besides Draco and the Malfoy elves has ever done the same for him. I’m going to spend the rest of my life giving Lucius the love he deserves. _ She lifted the skirt of her silver dress and slipped her feet into the basin of warm water, watching as her eldest husband wet and lathered a flannel.

Lucius took one of her feet in his large hands and began washing it meticulously. “Such a little thing you are,” he mused quietly. “Your feet must be half the size of my own.” He looked up at her for a moment. “And very pretty. They were made to be admired in shoes like the ones you wore today.”

She blushed at the compliment and gave a self-conscious smile. “Thank you. I liked those as well.”  _ Lucius likes my feet, and he likes them in high- _ Her internal monologue was cut short by the heavenly sensation of strong thumbs kneading the bottom of her foot. “Oooooh, Luuuuciuuuusss!” 

His eyes darkened slightly, and he looked away. “Unless you would like me to stop at once, you will refrain from such teasing noises.”

_ He’s trying to help me relax.  _ Hermione bit her lip in an effort to contain the smirk threatening to take over her entire face. “I’m sorry; it just felt sooooo gooooood.” As his hands left her foot, she begged, “For Merlin’s sake, Lucius, don’t stop!”

“I warned you, pet.” Lucius began his careful process on the other foot. “Merlin himself would have difficulty resisting the sounds coming from your mouth.”

“You’re right,” she provoked with as serious an expression as she could manage, “No more noises of pleasure from me tonight; I promise.”

He chuckled as he washed between her toes. “Minx.”

Hermione enjoyed the second half of her foot massage in relative silence, admiring the way Lucius’s hands moved gracefully over her skin. When he was done and drying her feet with one of the towels she said, “My turn.”

He paused with a puzzled look. “Your turn for what, pet?” Then he emptied the basin and began filling it again. “What are you doing?”

She had taken his previous spot on the floor. “I’m going to wash your feet, of course,” she replied in an obvious tone. “Come sit down!”

Lucius had frozen, filled basin in hand, and was looking at her in disbelief. “There is no need, my prize. I am quite capable of that myself.”

Once again Hermione’s heart was filled with that strong, wild emotion for her new husband.  _ Let the rest of his life be full of love,  _ she pleaded to the covenant.  _ Let his old wounds be healed, and let me be the one to do it.  _ Her own emotions doubled in response.  _ You’re protective of Lucius, too, _ she surmised.  _ That’s good, because I think he needs both of us. _ Aloud she said in a voice that brooked no argument, “Sit.”

He complied, brows still drawn in concern. At an imperious gesture from the young witch, he rolled up the legs of his trousers and put his feet into the basin.

Hermione set to work at once scrubbing the dirt from her wizard’s feet. “Mother of magic, Lucius – what have you been doing, traipsing about in a forest barefoot? Your feet are filthy!” That earned her a low chuckle. “And beautiful as well. Did you know that, Lucius?” She looked up at him with a happy smile.

He narrowed his eyes in a mock glare. “ _ Beautiful _ is not a word one uses to describe a wizard, pet. “

“Oh, but you have  _ many _ beautiful features.” Hermione turned her attention back to his foot. It was now clean, and she began moving her thumbs over the bottom of it in firm strokes.  _ Time for payback, Mr. Malfoy.  _ “Beautiful feet, beautiful hands, beautiful-” She stole a quick look up at her wizard’s face just as he moaned quietly. “Oh, no! There will be  _ no _ teasing noises out of your  _ beautiful _ mouth, Lucius.”

“I had no idea this felt so good, otherwise I would not have been in such a hurry to stop,” he said regretfully. “Forgive me, pet.” 

_ He must really be enjoying it; I don’t think he heard a word of all that.  _ “There’s nothing to be forgiven,” she said generously. An image of the two of them sitting on the fireside couch in his study, her feet in his very capable hands, came to mind and she added, “But you’re welcome to make it up to me any time you like.” She moved on to his other foot, jumping slightly when his hand brushed over her head.

“My own sweet witch,” he murmured. “How is it you know me so well?” He leaned forward and curled his fingers around her neck, tracing her necklace with his thumb.

Hermione finished her task and moved the basin aside, toweling off his feet lovingly. On impulse she bent low and pressed her lips tenderly to the top of one of them. Then she moved so that she was no longer sitting on her calves, but kneeling between his long legs. She rested her head on his knee and looked up at him with a grin. “I  _ have _ been called the brightest witch of the age.”

“And for good reason.” Lucius traced over the rune on her forehead. “This one is Wisdom, is it not?” He pulled back his hand and studied his fingers. “The paint is sticky; perhaps you would care to wash it off.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose and nodded. “I should. It smelled like berries when it was wet, and plant-based dyes are often permanent. I’d hate for it to stain the sheets.”

The expression on his face morphed to one of intense interest. “I wonder,” he said in a speculative tone and leaned down to kiss the mark. He pulled back, licked his lips, and smiled wickedly. “Oh, pet,” he crooned darkly, “This paint is meant for something else entirely.” He leaned down again and flicked his tongue over the same spot. 

She gasped quietly.  _ Sweet Circe, I should have seen that coming. Molly used edible paint – well, of course she did – and now I’m going to have every bit of Wisdom, Devotion, Strength, Life, and Desire licked off my body. _ _ Oh, yes. Yes, please.  _ She sat up on her knees, face tilted upward to him. Then, on the off chance he hadn’t seen the others through her transparent gown she clarified, “There are others, too.”

Wisdom was removed as she knelt between his thighs.  _ More.  _ Between each lave Lucius kissed the wet skin and murmured things that caused her knees to grow weak. Fortunately he seemed to be aware of his effect on her, because he held her in place with one strong arm. When the rune was gone he pressed his berry-flavored mouth to hers and applied the same care to her lips and tongue. Finally he pulled back, his heavy-lidded eyes dipping to the partially exposed rune on her chest. “What other runes do you bear, sweetling?”

She smiled cheekily, basking in her wizard’s heady brand of confidence. “Strength, Devotion, Life, and Desire. And Lucius,” she added, looking up at him through her lashes, “They’re all  _ very _ ,  _ very _ sticky. You’ll help me with them, won’t you?” 

He gave a low hum of amusement and stood, pulling her against him and bending her backward over his supporting arm. “It would be rude of me to do otherwise.” Then leaning low, he ran his nose over the swells of her breasts. “This comes off now,” he murmured against her collarbone. He tugged loose the stays of her beautiful wedding dress. “Lovely as it is, there is something far lovelier beneath.”

She raised her hands above her head as he lifted the ethereal dress from her body, watching through a large mirror as he laid it reverently over the back of the chair and came to stand behind her. Her breath came quickly and every part of her leaned back toward him in anticipation.  _ More. _

Hands falling to her hips, his eyes traveled over her bare form almost languidly, starting at her feet. He followed the lines of Desire up her right leg slowly, fingers tightening reflexively on her flesh before one hand slipped forward to cup her mound possessively. His gaze continued over her abdomen to her breasts, where it brought her shielded nipples to tight peaks. He closed his eyes for several seconds, the muscles of his jaw flexing, and when he opened them again he said hoarsely, “I could die a happy man at this moment.”

_ Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you dare do anything of the sort after you’ve begun winding me up! I’ve got more runes that need to be licked off, for starters. _ Hermione lifted her arms up and over her head to wrap around his neck. She gave a small, involuntary whimper as she watched his hands begin to move upward. 

He didn’t touch her breasts, even though she pushed them out in shameless offering. Instead Lucius held her in place with one large hand splayed across her stomach. With the other he lifted the waterfall of curls off her neck, using the handful as leverage to bend her to his will, and Strength was eliminated with tender diligence before they ever left the luxurious bathroom. 

It became obvious to Hermione that her wizard was holding himself back. She felt it each time he leaned low to move his mouth along her shoulders and his hard shaft brushed against her backside. She recognized it in the way his hand trembled slightly against her lower ribs. She sensed it as his breath fell in quick, shallow bursts on her neck, and in the way his lips and tongue moved over her skin far, far too slowly. The heat of Lucius’ carefully controlled want spread to her own body, lighting a spark deep in her gut, and by the time he finished with Strength she was on fire. The moment he released her, Hermione turned toward him. “More,” she breathed. 

Lucius spanned her back with one hand and gripped her bare backside with the other, pulling her close to him. He gave her another eye-crossing, berry-flavored kiss that was slightly less controlled than the last. When they broke apart to breathe, he released her and traced the rune on her breast. “And what is this one called, pray tell?”

Hermione had already unbuttoned his handsome waistcoat and pushed it off his shoulders. Now she shifted her attention to his cravat and shirt, sending shirt studs skittering across the tiled floor around them. The shirt followed suit, falling down to catch around his elbows, as she looked up at him breathlessly. “It’s called Devotion.”

He kissed her again, devouring her mouth as slowly and sensuously as he had Strength. “Then I shall continue with Devotion.” He crouched slightly and gently sank his teeth into her shoulder, at the same time removing her rune shields. The delayed gratification of his thumbs finally rubbing over her aching nipples elicited a gasp of pleasure from her.

She groaned, still lightheaded from his thorough kiss, and twined his long queue of hair around her fingers. “I’m not nervous anymore, Lucius. Don’t hold back.”

Lucius’ lips curved into a broad smile against her skin. “Hush, Wife.” He licked a wet path over the soft, lush, painted skin of her breast and wrapped his hands around her hips, and Devotion was gone by the time he’d backed her across the bedroom and against the side of the bed. 

Life was savored with long, languorous strokes after Lucius laid Hermione down on the cool silk sheets. He kissed a path from her chin down between her breasts, pausing to tease their peaks with his clever mouth before continuing on to the rune on her abdomen. There he froze for the space of a few heartbeats, staring at the mark with burning eyes. Covering her stomach with one large hand reverently, he whispered, “Life.” Then he broke out of his daze and proceeded to run his lips and tongue over her painted abdomen until she writhed under his touch.

Hermione’s body was ablaze. The spark of desire Lucius had lit only minutes before had been fed by every one of his words and touches, and now burned through her system like Fiendfyre. It licked along her limbs and raged deep in her gut. She tried to wrap her legs around him, tried to bring his body down to hers to relieve the hot ache he had instigated. When that didn’t succeed she attempted to wriggle her hand between their torsos to the fastenings of his trousers. She was stopped almost immediately both times. “Lucius,” she moaned.

“Patience, my prize.” Lucius reached back and trailed a hand over the last remaining rune. “We should cast a contraceptive charm now if that is what you wish.” His voice was rough with want, but his tone was one of reluctance.

Hermione’s mind filled with images of her elder wizard holding a child with blonde curls and blue eyes. Inwardly she sought out the family magic.  _ Just to be clear: I want that, too, but AFTER I have Lucius and Draco all to myself for a bit.  _ The covenant exuded smugness as it stretched lazily and settled back down in its usual spot, curled around the edges of her awareness.  _ Oh, for Merlin’s sake – you’re saying I’ll get pregnant when I’m supposed to get pregnant, aren’t you! _ _ It’s a good thing I’m too busy to argue with you right now, or-  _ She was distracted by her husband’s hand, which was tracing a ticklish line ever higher on her right thigh.  __ Outwardly she gave a small whine of pleasure and nodded. “For now.”

Lucius leaned down to kiss her hungrily, pressing his palm once more to her abdomen. The incantation he breathed against her lips caused her midsection to become warm and suffused in golden light for the space of a few seconds. His eyes were ablaze with emotion when he opened them. “I promised I would read my list to you tonight. Do you remember?” 

_ The list he began writing as a boy _ , she remembered distractedly.  _ The one in which he listed the qualities of his ideal witch _ . “Of course, my love,” she panted.

He dropped a series of lingering kisses from the corner of her mouth to the shallow valley between her breasts, pausing with a regretful sigh, “I should get it and do so before we continue.” His nose nudged the swell of one breast, his lips wrapping around its tight peak for one brief second.

Hermione made a noise of frustration. The idea had been so romantic when he’d told her about it yesterday, but now it was simply another roadblock between her and what she needed!  _ I’m going to spontaneously combust on my wedding night. _ She came to her senses finally, holding him in place by twining his long queue of hair tightly around one hand. “What if I told you I memorized the whole beautiful thing and could recite it backward to you?” she asked breathlessly. “It was far too lovely to be forgotten.”  _ Plus, I have a prodigious memory. _

Lucius let out a relieved-sounding breath. “That is sufficient for me.” He looked up at her contemplatively for the space of a heartbeat. “Perhaps later . . .” Then he slunk gracefully down her body until he lay with his head between her knees, and Desire was slowly sucked and nibbled from the length of her right leg. His pace up her thigh was agonizing, and he held her firmly in place with his hands as he used his lips, his teeth, and his tongue to clean her skin and slowly drive her mad. 

When at last his lips brushed the ticklish crease where her leg and torso joined, she yelped and begged for his torture to end. “No more, Lucius! No more teasing!” She pulled a pillow under her head so that she could see what he was doing.

Lucius hummed against that same spot. “I would give you pleasure before I take mine, but you must lie still. Can you do that, my Wife?” His tongue darted out as if to test her control.

Hermione pulled another pillow under her head and growled, “I will give you until the count of three, and then I will hex y- Oooooh, Luuuuciuuuusss!” 

He looked up from where he’d moved his mouth and hands, smiling smugly at her. “Begin your pretty noises, my love.” Then he returned to his previous actions, only this time he spread her wet folds with his fingers while he used his tongue and lips to find every nerve ending along her seam. Lucius lapped, he suckled, he divided his attentions between her clitoris and that one place that had been forbidden to this point, until Hermione forgot his one command and pushed back against his face seeking more pressure, more friction. He seemed to have forgotten, too, because her actions made him moan against her wet flesh. “Such a good girl you are, and so wet for me.”

At least, that’s what she thought he said. The now-familiar coil had begun winding deep in her gut, and she gave it her complete focus, willing it to completion. A light sweat broke out over her skin, her heart raced, and she held her breath, arching her body for what it now demanded. “Please, please,  _ please _ , Lucius!” When it seemed as though she would be reduced to ashes by her wizard’s fire, the coil reached its maximum capacity for tension. Her body froze, immobile on the edge of that release, and she opened her eyes to see Lucius lift his face from between her legs.

He looked at her with dark eyes, his own face damp with sweat. “Does that please you, pet?” His voice was tender and hoarse all at the same time. He put a hand where his mouth had just been, and one finger began a familiar rhythm.  _ Rub, rub, rub _ . “Come for me, my prize.”

“Nnnnngh,” she strained, choking on the sound.

He pushed his finger gently into her opening and started a second pattern of sensation.  _ Push, pull, push, pull _ . “Come for me, little love. Give me your release.” His thumb bore down on her clitoris at the same time and flicked over it again and again, drawing the coil impossibly tighter. “ _ Come,  _ Hermione _.” _

As if it had been waiting for that specific command, her body unfroze and the coil released, and Hermione cried out her husband’s name like an exultant proclamation. She sank back onto the pillows, adrenaline zinging through her system. 

Lucius raised his handsome head, licking his lips in smug satisfaction. Then he stood from the bed, much to Hermione’s confusion.

“What are you doing?” she managed to murmur in her boneless state. 

He pulled off his shirt where it hung from one elbow, letting it fall to the floor, and brought his hands to the front of his trousers. One eloquent eyebrow quirked.

_ Oh. OH.  _ She sat up and leaned on an elbow, watching as the fingers that had just caused her to come undone did the same to a button and zipper. Her eyes followed the drop of the soft wool fabric, returning up the length of Lucius’ long, well-shaped legs to the tented pair of dark silk boxers. She watched him take those off as well, the sight of his proud erection bringing with it the memory of having taken its length and girth into her mouth only the night before. Her mouth dropped open unconsciously.

Lucius was slinking over the bed now, returning to her. He paused when he was kneeling between her legs, looking down at her on all fours. “Will you have me now, Wife?”

She held out open arms to him in answer, drawing him down to cover her with his warm weight. Her hands wound around his neck, fingers working his thick, pale hair out of its black ribbon until it dropped like a curtain around their faces.

He kissed her as he lifted one of her legs and wrapped it over his hip. “Such a little thing you are,” the words fell on her lips like silk, “And yet Bespoke for me.” He ran the tip of his shaft along her slick folds, coating it in her arousal fluid before pushing it slightly against her virginal opening. “And after this one time, there will only ever be pleasure between us.”

Hermione looked up at her wizard. Despite his gentle tone, his expression was tense – almost distressed.  _ He still thinks of me as fragile. That’s rather adorable.  _ She smoothed a hand over his cheek and squeezed her leg where it hooked over his. “Stop stalling.”

At her encouragement Lucius caught her mouth with his and surged forward, pushing into her until they were joined as wizard and Wife.

First there was a sharp sting that wouldn’t go away.  _ Merlin above and Circe below, that hurts!  _ The young witch’s breath caught, her eyes squeezed shut, and for a fleeting second her brain offered refuge from the pain in the form of linguistic analysis.  _ So that’s where that expression comes from. I sincerely doubt Merlin was as big as Lu- _ She was returned to the moment as the sting morphed into a searing internal burn. Hermione barely managed to swallow back the cry of discomfort that sprang from her lungs, and in the end it came out as a sort of  _ yip _ against her husband’s lips. Taking a cautious breath, she sneaked a peek up at Lucius and saw that he wore an expression similar to hers.  _ Except he’s not in pain; he’s trying to control himself. _ The knowledge that he was still concerned for her wellbeing despite his obvious want and need enabled her to say in an impressively strong tone, “I’m fine, Lucius.”

“ _ Fucking hell _ ,” he murmured under his breath. Aloud he countered, “What you  _ are  _ is incredibly tight.” He squeezed shut his eyes and swallowed thickly. “If you need time to-”

The sensation was one of immense fullness and she wondered, were she to press her hand against her stomach, if she would be able to feel him within her. She refrained, suspecting it wasn’t the best time to satisfy her curiosity. Instead, Hermione stretched to kiss his jaw and attempted to allay his fears once more. “I will give you until the count of three, and then I will- Mmmmph!” 

Halfway through her threat Lucius began a slow, steady push-pull of movement. Beneath Hermione’s tensed fingers his broad shoulders trembled and glistened with sweat, and between her thighs his hips shook as they rocked back and forth.  _ He’s still holding back. _

After a few long minutes her body began adjusting to his intrusion. The sting and burn faded, along with the feeling of being stretched beyond capacity. She curled her other leg up around his corresponding hip, allowing him to sink even deeper inside of her. “There, do you see?” she murmured with relief. “We fit perfectly.” 

“Hermione.” Lucius groaned her name low and long, along with a litany of other barely intelligible words, and the sound vibrated through his chest and into her own. “I want . . . so fucking tight . . . I can’t . . . and wet, so wet . . . I need . . .” The pace and strength of his thrusts increased and became more erratic. 

_ I’ve reduced him to this state.  _ Hermione reveled in the power she seemed to hold over her new husband, especially as the now forceful push-pull of his much larger frame coaxed the promise of future pleasure out of her. She concentrated on his movements, mimicking them until at some point the combined rhythm of their bodies became almost seamless, and time passed in a series of masculine groans and feminine gasps. She began to acquire confidence.  _ Molly was right; each new thing builds on what we’ve done before! The next time we do this- _

That tantalizing thought was interrupted as he wrapped his arms around her even tighter, thrust into her almost savagely, and made a choking sound against her temple. He stilled above her for a second before slumping over her in a satisfying armful of sated, sweaty Lucius. 

Hermione hummed contentedly, squeezing her limbs around him for a second and kissing his shoulder. His inherent scent was mixed with the salt of sweat, and she couldn’t resist stealing a taste with the tip of her tongue. _ I just had sex with Lucius. _

They were still joined together when he rolled them both to their sides and pulled her head against his warm, damp chest. He sighed into her hair and began thrusting slowly into her again, grasping her backside firmly with one large hand. 

_ I just had sex with Lucius. And I think a certain part of me has the bruises to prove it.  _ She winced _ ,  _ feeling distinctly skewered by his . . . for Circe’s sake she was a married woman now; surely she should be able to  _ think _ the word ‘cock’ without hesitation! She could feel  _ it _ within her, still erect, and realized he was ready for another round of lovemaking. She tipped back her head and looked up at her handsome husband with trepidation.  _ Perhaps I am just a bit fragile after all.  _ Her brain whirred as a lightning bolt of thought occurred to her.  _ Sweet mother of Merlin, I just had sex with Lucius _ . She chewed on her lip nervously.  _ Was it what he expected? He hasn’t said anything. Was he dissatisfied the first time? Is that why he wants to do it again so quickly? Why didn’t the textbooks cover this?! _

“I can hear your brain working away, pet,” he said slowly, using his grip on her arse to pull her yet further down on his erection.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye nervously, “Errrrrr.”

Lucius tugged her head back with a loose handful of hair. “I hope you will forgive my performance,” he said in a quiet, earnest tone, “But I overestimated my self-control.”

“W-w-what?” Hermione frowned in confusion.

“I had no intention of finishing so quickly that you had no time to join me,” he explained, rubbing his mouth against the corner of hers. “This time will be different.”

_ Good and gracious Merlin, his ego is involved in this somehow.  _ Hermione shook her head firmly. “Lucius,  _ I _ was worried that you might be, you know . . .” when he didn’t seem to comprehend she offered with a blush, “ _ Disappointed _ . With  _ me _ . And now I’m worried because I might not be ready to do it again quite so soon, even though you’re obviously . . .” She shifted slightly and winced again.

Comprehension dawned across his face, and Lucius carefully withdrew from her body. “It seems I have yet more forgiveness to beg.” He ran a hand down her torso to the join of her legs and cupped her mound as he had earlier. “Not only would I have hurt you beyond what was necessary, but I made you feel inadequate.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he continued, “ _ Disappointed _ ? Is that what you thought?” He kissed her tenderly. “On the contrary, Hermione; never have I craved so intensely, and never have I been satisfied so completely before tonight.” He breathed an apologetic-sounding laugh. “I embarrassed myself like a greedy nineteen-year-old boy.”

There was a light tingling sensation between her legs which could only mean he was performing a wordless, wandless healing charm. She regarded him with a loving gaze, realizing that Lucius was every bit as insecure a lover as she in that moment.  _ I’ll talk to him about everything, _ she resolved,  _ and listen closely for the things he doesn’t say aloud. _ “Thank you; that feels much better already. And I happen to be quite fond of nineteen year old boys,” she quipped lightly with a yawn. The length of this intense day was catching up with her finally. “Oof! Where are we going now?”

Her husband had slid from the bed and scooped her up in his arms, a serene look on his handsome face. “To wash and find you a mild pain potion.” At a dismissive noise from her, he added, “This nineteen year old boy would very much like for you to be ready and willing for more as soon as possible.”

They removed the traces of their first lovemaking from each other’s bodies with attentive hands, Lucius’ characteristic confidence in his naked form infecting Hermione. Still, when they were done and she’d taken the potion handed to her, Hermione gently but firmly pushed her husband out of the bathroom, saying, “I have to pee, Lucius, and I’m not quite ready for you to watch that.” She took the time also to wash her face and brush her teeth, all the while regarding her reflection intently.  _ I look different.  _ Her skin was flushed, her hair wild, but it was the new gleam of knowledge in her eyes that held her attention. _ I look like I just had sex with Lucius. Will it be noticeable to anyone else? _

Lucius seemed to think so as they traded places moments later. He leaned low, still very much naked and aroused, and ran his hands over her torso. “You look like a freshly plucked rose, pet,” he murmured against her ear. “Now go climb into my bed and wait for me there.”

The moment her head hit the pillow, though, her eyes fell shut heavily, and she was only vaguely aware of being pulled into a loving embrace against a hard, warm body shortly afterward.

Hermione’s dreams were especially vivid that night, and in them she and Lucius made love shamelessly in a hundred different places and positions under the waxing moon. The most intense of all came at the end . . . 

_ She lay on her side under the ancient oaks in the Malfoy forest, her eldest husband behind her, keening with pleasure at his ardent touches. The dead leaves beneath them were soft as silken sheets, and the air carried the scent of her war stake. Lucius’ fingers plucked ceaselessly at her aching nipples and his mouth latched onto her neck as he held her tightly against his torso, one leg thrust between hers and his cock deep inside of her. Hermione pushed her backside into his groin with each languorous push he made, chasing an orgasm that promised to raze the forest around them, when he froze behind her. “Lucius!” she wailed, urging him to continue his pleasing movement. _

Hands were trailing along her stomach, rousing her from slumber. “Hermione,” came Lucius’ sleep-infused voice from behind her. 

The young witch woke slightly in the dimly lit room. Her body was singing with desire, and she willed herself back to that dream-place even as she became aware that one of her husband’s heavy arms pinned her to his chest, and that his leg was wedged between hers.  _ Just like my dream _ , she thought as she drifted off again.  _ I can almost imagine that he’s inside me right now. _

Lucius shifted behind her again, and the motion jarred her awake in the most pleasurable of ways. An accompanying lightning bolt of thought struck her brain.  _ That was no dream.  _ Her eyes flew open as she took careful stock of the situation. They lay back to front, limbs intertwined, her husband’s hands fondling her breasts and seam, and his cock most  _ certainly _ planted deep within her.

“Lucius,” she breathed, pushing her backside against his groin in attempt to make him move again. “Please don’t stop.”

He sighed deeply against the top of her head and surged forward inside her again. “Tell me this isn’t just another dream.” 

Hermione moaned wantonly when he began tugging and twisting her nipples again. “It’s real,” she gasped, now wide-awake. “Nnnngh!”

Lucius pressed the heel of his hand against her clitoris as he started a rhythm of harder, faster thrusts, each of which drew a noise of pure pleasure from her. He lowered his mouth to her neck, to the same spot where it had been in her dream, and began speaking softly. “I dreamed I was fucking you in my rose garden, pet, in the heat of the afternoon sun. You were wet and wanting, and I took you just like this.” 

Her husband’s words, spoken in a voice that dripped with sex and sleep, only heightened the effect of their lovemaking, and Hermione felt the fantastic orgasm she’d dreamed about approaching quickly.

He moved his mouth to the sensitive spot below her ear “Would you like that? To be wanted without patience and taken with even less?”

Hermione raised her hands up behind her head and wound her fingers into his long, loose hair, tugging at it distractedly in her state of imminent ecstasy. __ “Yes,” she sobbed, “Yes!”

Lucius was trembling all around her now, and she felt him break into a sweat as he bit out between clenched teeth, “Come with me, sweet witch,” he crooned, his movements now jerky. “Come on my cock and milk me of my seed.”

Perhaps it was this change in motion, or his filthy words of love, or the knowledge that she was causing her wizard to lose control again, but it didn’t matter in that moment. Suddenly she bucked in his embrace and cried out as her entire being exploded into long, sharp, glittering pieces of sensation. She felt Lucius arch against her, felt his hands clenching her flesh, and then a pulse and surge within her as he found his own release.

They fell asleep shortly after that, slumbering peacefully in each other’s arms until the soft light of dawn fell across their faces and the smell of a hot breakfast wafted through the air. Hermione stirred first. She extricated herself from Lucius’ embrace and turned toward the source of the light. The wall that had been previously covered in drapery was now bared of its heavy fabric covering, and a small table had been set in front of it and laden with covered dishes. A sideways peek toward Louis’ empty picture frame proved he’d kept his word.

The young witch eased herself out of the enormous bed carefully in an effort not to wake her husband, pausing when she realized she had nothing to wear nearby. Finally she picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on, frustrated to find it had no fasteners. _And that’s the trouble with shirt studs,_ she thought with a grimace _,_ _they’re too easily scattered over the bathroom floor in the heat of passion._ She wrapped the oversized garment around her and went in search of her wand.

Several minutes later Hermione emerged from the bathroom, having decided that breakfast was far more important than a shower. Instead, she’d relieved her bladder, brushed her teeth and pinned her wild mane of curls in a knot secured with her wand; at the last minute she exchanged Lucius’ shirt for an equally big silk robe that was hanging by the shower stall. Then, wrapping the large garment around her and tying it securely, she made a beeline for the table and began piling a plate high with mouthwatering food.  _ Merciful Merlin,  _ she thought as she practically inhaled a rasher of bacon, _ sex helps work up an appetite! _

She wandered to the window, plate in hand, and looked out at its impressive vista. Lucius’ room must have been several floors above the morning room, for below was the labyrinth and the lovely tree-lined path which led to it. Beyond was another series of gardens, and after that cultivated fields following the curve of the river.

She was so completely absorbed by both the delicious food on her plate and the scene before her that she only partially processed the sounds of Lucius rising and padding toward the bathroom behind her.

Sometime later there was a sudden whisper of movement behind her, and a large hand neatly caught the plate she almost whipped at him in alarm. Another curled around her waist as lips brushed against her ear. “Good morning, Wife.”

Hermione gave a hum of amusement. “You nearly had egg on your face, Lucius.”

“What were you thinking about so intently, pet?” Lucius set the plate on the nearby table and ran his mouth along the edge of her necklace, crouching to press his torso firmly against hers. 

“This and that,” she answered vaguely, finding it difficult to concentrate when his lips tickled along her collarbones. She lifted a half-eaten strawberry toward her neck in offering. “Are you hungry?”

He smiled against her shoulder. “Very. But first I have something for you.”

_ Yes, I can feel it poking into my bum _ . “Oh,  _ really _ .”

Lucius chuckled and swatted her backside gently. “Such impudence for so early in the morning. Wait here.”

The simple action, coupled with the memory of being spanked over Lucius’ knee just two days ago, sent a rush of arousal fluid outward from her core. Hermione squirmed at the sensation and tried to think of something less stimulating. She turned as he stepped away, shocked to realize he’d been pressed against her naked during their brief exchange. Another wave of wetness flooded her seam, and a frisson of desire ran along her nerve endings at the sight of his toned body.  _ That beautiful backside is mine to admire. And pinch. _ She grinned at the thought of doing just that to her dignified elder husband even as she watched his actions with lusty admiration.

Lucius had taken something small – it fit into his closed fist, she could see – from a drawer in his bedside table and was now returning to her, confidence screaming in his every movement. He smirked when he caught her ogling him, and said as he reached her side again, “Do you see something you like, pet?” He leaned down to her height, kissing her so thoroughly that Hermione never noticed when he untied her robe and slid it off her shoulders, nor pulled her wand from her hair and set it down on the table beside them.

She shivered as he pulled away slightly, realizing what he’d done and blushing as his eyes traveled over her bare form. It was one thing to end up undressed in the throes of passion, but another thing altogether to simply stand nude in the light of day. Her hands came up reflexively to cross over her breasts.

Lucius took her hands in his and drew them behind her back, holding them there loosely in one large hand. “What is it you have to hide, my prize?” Now the fingers of his free hand followed the path of his eyes, smoothing up her thigh, dipping into her drenched folds. “Certainly not these pretty round tits,” he mused as he brought his now-wet fingers up to one nipple and smeared the fluid over her tight peak, licking it clean with one slow lap of his tongue. “Or the fact that your pussy is dripping for me.” He repeated the action on the other breast.

Hermione pushed into his teasing touch, quickly forgetting her former insecurity. “N-n-nothing,” she stammered, trying to form coherent sounds. “N-n-no hiding, Lucius. O-o-o-o-h!” She pulled her hands free and brought them to his head, tangling her fingers in his loose hair to hold him where he was. 

Lucius had other plans, it seemed. He stood to his full height, grinning wolfishly at her growls of protest and sucking his fingers clean. Then he opened his other hand, revealing an intricately cut platinum charm. “This is yours, Madame Malfoy.”

It was the family crest he’d shown her the previous morning. Hermione reached out and ran a finger over its ornate edges. He was marking her again, but in that moment all the young witch could think was,  _ I’m a Malfoy now, and the whole world will know it _ . It was a satisfying thought. “Put it on me, Lucius,” she breathed with a happy smile, and when he’d complied she added in a bossy tone, “Now kiss me.”

The elder Malfoy wizard chuckled, leaning to press his lips to the charm now hanging from her choker. “Yes, my lady.” He gave a low hum of approval and raised his eyes to hers. “You belong to me, now.”

A few weeks ago the archaic turn of phrase would have sent her into a tizzy, and she would have felt the need to assert her independence immediately. Now, though, she recognized it for what it was: a declaration of utter devotion and love. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and pulled his face to hers. “You belong to me, as well.”

“Unreservedly and forever. You, Madame Malfoy, own every piece of me; mind, heart, and body.” With each of those words, he pressed her hand to the corresponding part of him; first his forehead, then his chest, and finally he wrapped her hand around his erection. Then he mated his mouth to hers and kissed her cross-eyed and breathless.

Hermione sighed against his lips, hoping this was going where she thought it was.  _ Please let this involve intense amounts of mutual physical gratification. _ Her hands made their way once more to his thick, pale hair in an attempt to keep him right where he was.

Lucius knelt in front of her, pulling her down slowly to straddle his folded legs and catching one tight peak in his mouth. When she mewled and squirmed in response, he lifted her by her hips and set her down again, this time impaling her core on his long, hard shaft. He released his latch on her breast with a groan. “I need you, Wife. Will you have me?”

Hermione’s head fell back at the feeling of being joined with him once more.  _ I think it’s a bit late to ask.  _ “Yeeeeeessssss.”  _ But, OH! Yes, please!  _

They shared a slow, burning kiss, flexing their hips against each other tentatively in this new position for a minute. Hermione unconsciously dug her fingernails into his shoulders, causing Lucius to snarl against her lips and fall forward, pinning her beneath him on the carpeted floor. 

It was their most aggressive lovemaking so far. Lucius drew one of her legs up by the knee and threw it over his forearm, holding her in place with his hands curled over her shoulders. He set a nearly punishing pace and drove into her mercilessly with each forward thrust, forcing a grunt of pleasure from Hermione with each one.

For her part, Hermione responded with equal ferocity. She arched into her husband’s firm body, fighting to release the coil he’d already begun winding within her. Her fingernails raked down the skin of his back before finding purchase in his buttocks, and she met his hungry kisses with a matching appetite. Almost unconsciously, she fought to flip them, succeeding for the space of a few heartbeats only to be firmly pinned back down under Lucius’ much bigger body. And when he seized her hands in one of his and held them above her head, using his other to pluck at her left nipple in an exquisitely torturous manner as he ground his hips against hers one final time, Hermione clamped her teeth down on a mouthful of muscular shoulder. They cried out their mutual release, gasping for breath as languor began creeping into their sated bones.

Lucius withdrew from her and rolled so that she lay splayed over his torso, her legs hanging over his hips. He ran his hand over her hair in a soothing way for a long time. Finally she raised her head to look at him. “Hmmmmmm.” It was the best she could manage, but he seemed to understand.

He gave a sleepy, boyish grin. “My kitten becomes a wildcat in bed.”

Hermione started to argue that they weren’t, in fact, in a bed, when she spied two perfect rows of dental imprints in her husband’s shoulder. “I bit you!” She cried in surprise. “Oh, my love, I bit you! I’m so sorry; let me heal it.” She struggled to rise and get her wand.

Lucius only held her tighter and laughed out loud. “Leave it be. I’ll have something to brag about later on.”

“I really bit you,” she reiterated, slightly confused. “It’s already bruising, and will probably hurt.”

He sat up, bringing her with him, and pulled her to tightly straddle his hips. “Love bites are even better than battle scars, pet,” he explained in a smug tone. “And wizards bear them proudly. Next time perhaps you’ll mark me in a more visible place.”

Hermione contemplated this new idea quietly, all the while tracing the deep indentations of her teeth in her husband’s skin.  _ Lucius just used two different contractions. It takes sex for him to talk in vernacular. I know this because Lucius and I just had sex. Again. And he likes it a little rough. _ The last thought brought a secret smile to her lips. _ I think I might, too. _ Aloud she said in a quiet, curious tone, “Is it always as good as it’s been so far?”

Lucius smiled languidly and pulled her impossibly closer. “That is my sincerest wish, and I look forward to having it fulfilled.” His eyes twinkled in the pale morning light. “You might be the death of me, Madame Malfoy.”

Hermione leaned her head against his broad shoulder and smiled lazily, enjoying the feel of his strong embrace. “Oh, I’ll be sure to keep that from happening; after all, I want to have you around for a very long time.”  _ I think married life is going to agree with me.  _

“Excellent.” He lifted her from his lap and stood, drawing her up as well. “Now come, sit on your husband’s lap and be fed by his hand. You’re going to need sustenance for what he has planned for you this morning.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hermione sprawled on her side across the bed in a boneless heap, the morning having been spent in relentless pursuit of pleasure; Lucius was a generous lover and determined, it seemed, to wear her out with mind-blowing sex. At this point it was all she could do to keep her eyes uncrossed. When she had recovered enough to focus her pupils, she looked at the well-toned wizard leaning on one elbow beside her. Reaching her fingers to brush against the dark blond hair that lightly covered his chest, she murmured, “So that’s wand play.”

He pulled her against him and chuckled, and the vibrations of that sound traveled intimately from his body to hers. “Indeed. Tell me, pet, did you enjoy it?” His hands ran over the bare skin of her back in teasing patterns, and if she hadn’t been so utterly tired, she would have broken out into goose bumps.

“Very much so.” Hermione drew back from him slightly and raised her head, propping it on one hand. “Could I do that to you as well?” 

“No,” he answered firmly, communicating the absoluteness of that answer with his eyes as well. 

_ Lucius fears lack of control _ , she mused inwardly. It made sense, given his past, though Hermione couldn’t help but grieve that his sense of trust had been violated so much over the course of his life. Her heart squeezed tenderly at the thought.  _ Perhaps in time he’ll find that it isn’t so terrifying to give his trust to the right person, and until then he can have mine. And I’ll let him boss me around. Within reason.  _ Aloud she teased, “Oh, fine, Mr. Bossy Pants. I promise never to attempt controlling you sexually – or any other way – with magic.”

His smirk grew wider. “I quite enjoy the magic of your mouth and hands, not to mention that of your tight, wet-” Lucius broke off and brushed one finger over her lips gently, his mood swinging abruptly. “You have no idea, do you? The use of magic on your part would be superfluous. With every look, every movement, every word you command me, Hermione. I am yours completely.”

The young Wife fell silent in the wake of those powerful words, wondering if perhaps her elder husband knew more about trust than she’d thought. Finally she settled for bending to press her lips to the swell of chest muscle laying over his heart and then curling her body against his. They lay like that for some time, until Hermione sighed and stretched, saying, “This has been a very enlightening honeymoon so far, I must say. Every one of my muscles feels educated.” Suddenly she flinched and seized her leg, rubbing it furiously. “Owowow! Charlie horse!”

Lucius, of course, found this amusing, and was almost on the receiving end of his new Wife’s ire when he redeemed himself by massaging the cramp out of her leg with skilled hands. He chuckled at her loud, appreciative groans of relief. “Tell me what you have learned, pet.”

It was difficult to think about anything other than his therapeutic touch, but at last she regained brain function. Then, biting back the smile that threatened to overtake her face, she answered, “That shower sex is every bit as fun as people say; that carpet burns can be worthwhile; and that Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is a cuddler.”

He loomed above her with narrowed eyes. “ _ I _ am  _ not _ .” He pushed his thumbs deeply into her calf muscle as if to reiterate that point.

“Yes, Lucius, you are,” she teasingly persisted, “You are a _very_ _cuddly_ wizard.” She leaned into him, nuzzling her nose against his chest. “And I like it very much.”

  
  


His expression softened marginally, but his tone was unyielding. “As far as the rest of the world knows, I kiss, I touch, and I fuck, but never anything so effeminate as . . .  _ cuddling _ .” He seemed to have difficulty even saying the word.

_ I could probably extort something impressive out of him with that information _ . She grinned wickedly, running her nose up his chest to his neck, where she whispered, “I’ll keep your secret, but only if you keep  _ cuddling  _ me.”

He gave another small, deep laugh and leaned down to kiss her collarbone, the stubble on his unshaven face and neck scratching her in a delightfully masculine way. “Minx.”

“I like this,” she hummed appreciatively, rubbing her palm against his rough cheek.  _ I like all of you _ . They lay peacefully in each other’s arms for a long while after that, any sound other than that of their breathing unnecessary. 

Around noon Hermione began to experience a curious mixture of reluctance and anticipation. Until then every part of her had been kept completely occupied by Lucius, but now the young witch’s attention turned to Draco. Not that she’d ever forgotten him; in fact he’d figured heavily in several conversations over the past few hours. No, he was in her heart and mind at all times, yet something kept her where she was until the nearest timepiece chimed twelve times.

She sighed against Lucius’ chest. “It’s time for me to go,” she murmured softly, inwardly acknowledging this sudden surety as the guidance of the family magic.

The elder Malfoy stroked a hand over her hair, making a noise of agreement. “Loath as I am to part with you, the boy needs his Wife.”

“He’s not a boy, Lucius,” she corrected absently. “He’s been a man according to wizarding law for two years.”

He kissed her temple and smiled so widely she felt the curve of his lips against her skin. “A man is made in more than one way, pet, and Draco has not yet had his Wife. Now go,” here he swatted her backside, “and make a man of him.”

She raised herself up partway, smiling down at him in pleased surprise. “How do you do that?” At his inquisitively raised eyebrow, she continued, “How do you turn the most awkward topics and situations into comfortable conversation?”

“Have I not proven the skill of my silver tongue?” he asked in smug amusement. He sat up against the headboard and drew her up so they faced each other directly, suddenly serious. “Never underestimate your part in our bond; you are . . .” he trailed off. “You are light and life to me, Hermione, and you have brought laughter and understanding to a cynical man starving for those things.” He stroked a gentle hand over her cheek and down her throat, curling his fingers around her neck. “If you find it easy to talk with me, it is because I desire nothing more than to talk with  _ you _ . It brings me great joy.”

Her confidence bolstered by that affirmation, she gave voice to something that had been both bothering both her and causing her to be curious. “And it honestly doesn’t bother you that I’m going to him? That you have to share your Wife with another?” She paused, blushing. “I know, I know; this is the part where you tell me that it’s your culture, and that it will all make sense to me in time.”

Lucius’ answer was spoken in a tone that matched his intense expression. “I have shared everything in my life with Draco to this point; why should it be any different now?” He leaned and brushed his mouth against hers, adding in a silky murmur, “I look forward to seeing you laid out for us both on the House bed as you were in that picture, pet.”

That brought another, deeper blush to her face. “I thought you’d forgotten to open that present, since you haven’t said anything, or that it wasn’t to your taste,” she confessed self-consciously.

Her reward was a throaty chuckle and another brief, teasing kiss. “It was very much to my taste. I opened it the moment you left and nearly came in my pants. Draco didn’t help at all; he promptly showed me the one you’d given him. We both had difficulty walking to dinner, and then had to sit with hard, weeping cocks.” Lucius laughed again. “Such a delightfully naughty girl you are.” Then he gave her bare bottom another playful slap. “Go now, before I persuade you to stay longer. The sooner you go to him, the sooner the three of us will meet in that bed.”

Hermione’s exhausted body warmed to her husband’s words. Nevertheless, she slipped from his side and donned her wedding dress shortly after that, laughingly declining his suggestion of one more shower together. He’d looked almost relieved when she shook her head, giving Hermione pause for thought.  _ I think I wore out Lucius _ . The idea stroked her feminine ego and caused the covenant to purr contentedly.

She left on foot, thrilled when Lucius didn’t press too hard for her to call for a guard for escort through the Manor. It didn’t matter in the slightest bit that she had no idea where she was going – this was about a few minutes of complete independence after weeks of constant, unsolicited company. Besides, she could always Apparate to her own rooms eventually. The covenant seemed pleased at her desire to take a slightly longer route, and Hermione wondered briefly if it had an agenda of its own.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaand . . . I have a fic rec. You've probably all read it a jillion times, but I rarely crawl out from under my rock to hunt down fanfic and only just discovered this gem.  
> It's in the same vein as BW and well-written AND edited. How many times have I begun a promising fic, only to close it in disappointment after a dozen or so grammatical transgressions? This one is worth reading to the end of its great two chapters!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536195/chapters/56452057 The Malfoys by LadyKenz347
> 
> So that's my news for you! Whatchooo got for me?
> 
> -G-


	74. Saturday Afternoon and Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rather leisurely six-day weekend and forgot which day was which. Imagine my surprise when I discovered today was Monday! Monday is approaching entirely too quickly . . .  
> Baby G has named her yellow beetle John Malkovich, and since she inherited her proclivity for naming everything in her life from moi I don't even ask. Her brothers G Junior and the Captain even got her a cute little collapsible snow shovel that should last a good five minutes here in the Great North -- but points for thoughtfulness (they even made sure to get one in her university colors).  
> Mr. G has once more fallen down the home improvement rabbit hole. I can't say this a good thing; he's brilliant and *snorts* clever with his hands (I couldn't help myself), but there's nothing like coming home on any given day to find the kitchen floor torn up and two pallets of flooring in the study. As fellow fanficcer Palmetto Blue would say, "Bless." As my darling CoquetteKitten says, "How VERY dare him!"  
> Welp, I need to go prep for going back to work tomorrow. Our governor has opened schools for the younger grades beginning tomorrow, and so my kingdom (wot I call the school library I manage) will be reopening for business! I need to go wash my Hogwarts mask!  
> Friends, as always your notes are like little love letters. I was going to do a shout-out here, but Baby G just sashayed by with her laundry hamper, which means she's trying to jump the queue for the washing machine. Conniving little Slytherin ;).  
> Be safe friends! Make sure your damned mask covers your nose! Don't share tissues with strangers! No double dipping your crisps in the dip! Mwah!
> 
> With much love,
> 
> -G- (Glitterally)

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Saturday Afternoon and Evening

The beauty of the magnificent old house quickly captivated her attention. Hermione wandered through cavernous, dark-paneled corridors and grand rooms as she navigated her way across the Manor. At times it felt as though the house itself was guiding her steps; floorboards creaked, doors swung open, inquisitive figures in paintings followed her from room to room, and she allowed her innate curiosity to take over completely.  _ What does it want me to see _ , she wondered.  _ And what’s as important as Draco? _

She’d crossed through several rooms and traversed two staircases before coming on a reflection of herself in a magnificently wrought mirror. The image was so disparate to the mental one she carried of herself that she drew her wand defensively, thinking for a moment there was yet another stranger in the house. Then, recognizing the shimmering, transparent wedding gown and her own features, she stared for several spellbound seconds.  _ How is it I no longer recognize myself in a mirror? _ The witch staring back at her was a siren, her eyes full of secrets and her kiss-swollen mouth set in a confident curve. Her curls were wild, her dress sweetly seductive, and her neck liberally marked with faint, mouth-shaped bruises.  _ Sweet Circe, Lucius was right; I look like a freshly plucked rose. _ That thought, combined with the memories of said plucking, only increased the confidence exuded by the witch in the mirror. _ Go, _ she seemed to say, _ and fear nothing. _

When she’d had her fill of ego-boosting, she continued on through another set of doors and then stopped abruptly. She found herself in a room she’d passed through once before: the portrait gallery of Malfoy Manor. Hundreds of ornate frames hung in neat lines along the walls, and their inhabitants seemed to have crowded into the two rows closest to the floor. They were all looking her way and whispering quietly to each other. 

For a brief moment Hermione’s self-assurance floundered.  _ Sweet Circe, these perverted paintings can tell exactly what I’ve been doing! _ Then she called to mind her brazen mirror image and the message it had imparted. The covenant sent a push of its own smug confidence from where it was curled along the edge of her awareness. Her chin came up, her shoulders squared, and the young Wife reanalyzed her words.  _ Of course they can; and why should I care? Each Wife here has stood in my shoes, and each Malfoy was made a man on his wedding night. These are the ancestors of my House, and I have no reason to be ashamed that I’ve become one of them. _

The young witch walked to the middle of the long, high-ceilinged room and turned in a slow circle, making eye contact with as many painted figures as she could. The whispering continued until a throat was cleared somewhere in the room, and then it became silent. She sought out the source of the sound and found a large painting in the far corner, its sole female figure looking at her with a regal expression. “You are the new Wife?” The voice was both musical and cultured.

Hermione walked slowly toward her. “I’m Hermione, Wife to Lucius and Draco,” she replied politely. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized Grand _-_ père Louis watching from a nearby frame with a few other wizards.

The female figure looked at her closely, her expression one of respect and fascination. The painting was obviously very old; the oils had darkened over time, leaving its subject slightly shadowed and mysterious. The lady wore a long, richly hued gown with slashed sleeves and full, belted skirts, and her head was covered in an elaborate headpiece with a fine veil, her eyebrows and forehead shaved in the fashion of her time. Finally the painting said with a dignified nod of her head, “And I am Peronelle, Wife to Auguste, Mellin, and Ambroise. Welcome, Hermione. We have anticipated your coming for some years.” 

There was more murmuring from the filled frames, but Hermione stood transfixed by the regal lady before her. “How is it you speak English?” she finally asked.

Peronelle’s lips quirked in a very familiar expression of amused confidence. “As if I would speak such a common tongue! But does not the covenant reside in us both? There are few problems it cannot solve.”

_ Mother of magic, there have been Malfoys making that same smug face for over five hundred years. _ She processed the ancient Wife’s words.  _ And they’re all as self-assured as Lucius. _ “I see.” Hermione glanced around again. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t stay. It was very nice to meet you.”

Again Peronelle’s mouth quirked, but her blue eyes were kind. “Your younger husband is waiting for you,” the painting’s understanding gaze traveled over the young Wife slowly, “and you wish to return to your rooms first. Although, Hermione,” she said in a low, confiding tone, “You look radiant. Clearly my descendant found you most pleasing.”

Perhaps it was the lady’s kind manner, or the way she reminded Hermione of Lucius, but it was impossible to take offense at what was so obviously given as a compliment. The young witch blushed and smiled. “Thank you, Peronelle. I was pleased with him as well. And you’re right; I’m on my way to my suite before I go to Draco.” She paused and added, “I have the strangest feeling that I was led here for a specific reason, only I can’t think what it is.”

There was a hushed murmur from the portraits, and Peronelle’s eyes slipped sideways momentarily. 

Hermione looked in the same direction inquisitively, to find that on the opposing wall in this corner of the room was a large, curtained rectangle; ostensibly a covered picture frame. “Who is that?” She asked her new friend.

The ancient Wife seemed to be considering her words carefully. “A vile creature contained within an enchanted frame. She cannot leave it, and we do not wish to visit her. Her curtain must block all sound, for she can only be heard when it is raised.”

Realization dawned on the young witch, and she stared at the covered painting with a sickening feeling in her gut. _Narcissa_. “And the covenant has brought me here to speak with her.” _Can I really trust you? Why do I need to meet the witch who was so amazing in bed she got Lucius to do whatever she wanted? And who would have raised the curtain?_ Her helpful brain supplied the answer: Lucius. After all, Draco seemed to know nothing of his mother, save for the little he’d been told by his brother. _Lucius has visited Narcissa’s portrait at least once since she died._

“I was led in the same way to the one who came before me, but she was a great lady, and very kind,” admitted Peronelle softly. “Hermione, no portrait is so cursed without reason. Some things should be left as they are.”

The warning only magnified her resurfacing fears of inadequacy, but Hermione immediately argued, “If the covenant works only to further this House, then who are we to question where it leads?” Within her, she felt the family magic burst into nearly palpable laughter over those words and gave a reflexive eye roll _. _ “Oh, bother,” she muttered aloud, “I am  _ never _ going to live that down.” For a moment she wavered, torn between the opposing desires of confrontation and avoidance, but then felt resolution settle over her like a cloak in shades of maroon and gold.  _ For Gryffindor, _ she thought as she raised her wand and sent the curtain whizzing back on its rod. The family magic sent a pleased feeling her way.  _ For the Malfoy covenant.  _ The gallery fell silent, and Hermione knew this was another one of those defining moments from which she couldn’t step away.  _ And for me. _

Her eyes met with the back of a platinum-haired head. The occupant of the frame stood facing away, hip cocked and arms crossed in a petulant manner. “Have you come to brag about your little Mudblood whore, Lucius?”

The words were met with hundreds of gasps but Hermione remained silent. Part of her was unprepared for the pure venom in the sweet voice, and another was already formulating a response.

Narcissa Malfoy tapped her toe impatiently on the stone floor of the painting. “Let me guess: she makes you feel adequate? Like a real man?” Her scornful laugh was like liquid silver. “But you’re not, are you, Lucius? You’re just a weak, pathetic excuse for a wizard who needs to be held like a pathetic little boy.” She turned, finally, and said in a different tone, “Oh. Who are  _ you _ ?”

Hermione gaped, unprepared for the utter perfection that was Narcissa Black Malfoy. A face of exotic beauty looked down at her, flawless lines somehow unmarred by an expression of intense and haughty loathing. Her skin was pale, her hair almost white, her wide-set eyes were deep brown, and she wore an incredibly revealing gown that displayed a body of daunting curves and angles. She was everything, in fact, that Hermione felt she herself lacked.  _ Sweet Circe, she makes Fleur look like a cute kid. _ “I’m Hermione,” she managed in a small but firm voice.

Narcissa flicked those incredible, bottomless eyes over the young witch, and it was obvious she found her deficient in every way. “A regrettable name for a regrettable face. But  _ who _ are you?”

The young witch shifted self-consciously, mindful of the disparity between them. Lucius had wedded the gorgeous witch now staring at Hermione as though she were a cockroach. He’d hated her, but in the end he’d succumbed to those ripe breasts and full lips, and he’d bedded her. Repeatedly. Then, long after she’d died, he’d taken a second Wife; one that was as far removed from his first as possible: innocent to a fault, demure to the point of awkward, and unconcerned with the fact that she was no great beauty. Those facts looped through her brain in painful clarity until a lightning bolt of realization struck Hermione with force.  _ Yes, I’m her polar opposite, and everything that Lucius has ever desired in a woman. _ His list came to mind, and she began reciting it internally even as she replied in a tone of growing confidence, “I’m the witch Lucius bragged about.”

“Plain  _ and _ common.” Narcissa made a delicate noise of derision. “He must be so pleased.”

_ ‘You are so sweet that you drive the air from my lungs’ _ , he had said as he knelt at her feet. The words and accompanying action had been branded onto her very soul, marking her forever as a being of beauty and infinite worth. Hermione’s chin jutted out as she countered, “He must be, because he married me last night. I’m on my way to your son now.”

Narcissa ignored the mention of Draco completely. “You left the bed of your elder wizard after only a night?” The portrait raised one eyebrow in disapproval. “I kept Abraxas’ bones warm for  _ weeks _ before I even  _ thought _ of Lucius. Of course, he has always had such low expectations; it shouldn’t surprise me that he would be happy with so  _ little _ .” She looked over Hermione’s figure again as she let that last word drip disdainfully from her voluptuous mouth.

_ ‘Your kindness exceeds all expectation’ _ . Hermione thought of Lucius’ regard for Draco, for his unselfish care and concern for those around him, and she guessed that he had cultivated that virtue because he craved it himself.  _ This will be a House built on kindness _ , she vowed, feeling the covenant purr within her.  _ And Merlin help anyone who gets in the way of that _ . She stepped closer to the portrait of the previous Malfoy Wife. “Say what you wish about me; I couldn’t care less what you think. But don’t you  _ dare _ speak that way about my husband again.” ‘ _ You are generous and true of heart, brave and loyal as a warrior, and pure in mind and body. Your beauty is incomparable’ _ , that magnificent wizard had said to her. She caught a glimpse of herself through his eyes, and liked what she saw. “In fact, don’t  _ speak _ of him again.  _ Ever. _ ”

Narcissa blinked, and then a cruel smirk began spreading across her face. She parted her sensual lips as if to speak.

Hermione cut her off. “No,” she said with authority far beyond her nineteen years, “It’s time for you to go back under your drape and think about the fact that the Malfoy covenant only wanted you for Draco.” She raised her wand and added reflectively, “I’m tempted to come back with a bottle of turpentine and touch up your face (she paused as Narcissa gasped in horror), but it’s obvious the very best punishment you could ever receive is to watch Lucius enjoy the rest of his long, happy life. I look forward to keeping you updated.” And with that, she snapped the drape shut, effectively sealing Narcissa back into her solitary confinement.

_ ‘Your fiery temper is arousing, and you challenge me’.  _ Hermione smirked as she remembered the last of her elder husband’s list.  _ I think that would have pitched a tent in Lucius’ trousers _ , she thought to herself with satisfaction. Slowly the gallery was filling with the sound of whispers, and she turned to see a beaming Grand-père Louis standing arm in arm with a dark-haired, blue-eyed witch in a large frame directly across the long, narrow hall. 

_ That’s his comely little Danish Wife, Yolande’s mother in law. _ Adrenaline was shooting through her system now that she’d faced down her predecessor.  _ I want to meet every Wife in this gallery _ . Hermione was pulled from that train of thought when Louis murmured something to his Wife that made the pretty Danish witch grin and say loudly, “My husband has paid you the highest compliment possible: he says you are almost as magnificent as me. We bid you welcome to this noble House, Hermione Malfoy.”

The sentiment was taken up as a sort of chorus that rang out from the crowded lower picture frames, filling Hermione’s ears and heart with a deep sense of belonging. “Thank you.” The words seemed inadequate, but at the moment she was overwhelmed by the knowledge that she had passed some kind of test, and that the covenant had been behind the entire thing.  _ You really do seem to know what’s best _ , she thought, wishing no more than to cuddle the family magic in her lap and scratch it behind the ears. She walked to the middle of the enormous room. “I need to go now,” she said to her new family, “But I’ll be back soon.” With that, she visualized the outer room of her lovely bedroom suite and Disapparated with a confident  _ crack _ .

A happy, tuneless voice, which could only belong to Trinket, was belting out a popular Weird Sisters song from the bathroom. She was drawing a steaming, fragrant bath and seemed unsurprised to see Hermione. “Good day, Mistress! Will you soak before you nap?”

Hermione was still reveling in her newly acquired freedom and gave only partial attention to the elf’s words.  _ I could Apparate to the library for a book and then go read in the rose garden, and no one would even blink!  _ Trinket was looking at her expectantly, breaking the young witch from her thoughts. “Errrr, sorry. What was that?”

The housekeeper repeated her question, adding, “Mistress looks tired. Rest first, and Trinket will keep your bath hot.”

“No nap,” argued Hermione. “Draco is waiting for me.” She took a step into the lovely bathroom, tugging at the stays of her gown.

The transformation in Trinket from servant to superior was as unexpected as the last time. She glared at Hermione. “Mistress is a precious gift! She is cared for by all,  _ including herself _ .” Here she wagged a finger in Hermione’s direction. “You will rest, you will eat a good meal, and you will enjoy a hot bath. You will  _ not _ leave these rooms until Trinket decides you are  _ ready _ to leave these rooms.” 

The young witch weighed the probable outcomes of arguing with the little creature. Finally she blurted, “But Draco-”

Trinket interrupted sternly, “Is asleep. His friends kept him up all night.” She shooed Hermione back through the dressing room and into the bedroom. “To bed, Mistress.” Gesturing imperiously at the fairy-wing gown, she snapped her fingers as if Summoning something.

The lovely turned-down bedding beckoned invitingly. In truth Hermione  _ was _ tired, and her body was sore regardless of how pleasurable her recent workouts had been. She changed into the pretty silk slip laid out at the end of her bed and clambered in with a loud sigh. “You’re quite sure? Have you been checking in on him?” Her stomach growled loudly at the same moment a lunch tray materialized over her lap. 

Trinket narrowed her eyes slightly and gathered up the dress. “Trinket has no need to  _ check  _ on  _ anyone _ . The manor speaks endlessly of the House of Malfoy, and the housekeeper listens.” 

Hermione was already tucking in to the generous serving of heaven on her tray: chicken and vegetables cooked in thick gravy, topped with a buttery crust. “Mmmm,” she moaned around an unladylike mouthful, “Whufffooomeen?” Hermione swallowed and added apologetically, “I’m so sorry. What I meant to say is, what do you mean by that?” She shoveled in another forkful and looked at the housekeeper expectantly.

Trinket answered in a low, secretive tone. “The Lines of Ley converge beneath this place, and all magics of this world pass through its foundations. They have made Malfoy Manor a living thing. I am its keeper.”

Her fork paused in midair as Hermione finally processed everything that Trinket had said. “Sweet Circe on a broom, the house . . . and you . . .” She realized her suspicions of the Manor guiding her earlier that day hadn’t been far off, and that the covenant was undoubtedly tapping in to all that magic.  _ I could spend the rest of my life studying all of this. And you knew how perfect we were for each other! In between all my research, I might have time to fit in that great destiny you mentioned last night. _ The covenant rolled in amusement.

“Yes, Trinket keeps the Manor,” the creature confirmed in a pleased voice. “And makes trifle!”

Hermione pushed her tray back and snuggled down, suddenly very drowsy. “Don’t forget, you also take excellent care of the Malfoys.” She yawned. “You were right; I’m  _ exhausted _ .”

Trinket sent the tray back to the kitchens with another snap. She drew the covers up over Hermione’s shoulders with a wave of her hand and patted the coverlet lovingly. “That is not a job but a  _ privilege _ , Mistress.”

The young witch fought the waves of sleep washing over her. “I was sure I could stay awake. How did you know?” she asked sleepily.

The Malfoy housekeeper gave her a look that was seven kinds of motherly. “If  _ you _ will not take care of yourself, the  _ elves _ will. You were tired! Trinket had Topsy put a mild Sleeping Draught in your meal.” At Hermione’s faint sound of outrage, Trinket continued, “The young Master requires little rest, and since he is asleep now he will be up all night. This way the two of you will be awake together.”

It was a sneaky yet logical tactic, and the young witch mumbled as her eyes dropped shut heavily, “Oh, well done.” She fell deeply into a web of vivid dreams in which house elves secretly ruled the wizarding world, the manor told her an urgent secret, and she and Draco studied mutual orgasms by way of quantitative research.

Hermione awoke in the early evening refreshed, her mind whirring busily. There was something she was supposed to remember from one of her dreams, she was  _ sure _ of it . . . Then she thought of Draco, and opened her eyes in panic. Above her head a heavy piece of vellum hung, magically suspended. She plucked it from the air and read:

_ Little witch, _

_ I’ve planned an honest-to-goodness first date for us tonight. Meet me in the library for dinner at eight o’clock; third floor, back of the philosophy of magic section.  _

_ Draco _

With those simple words Hermione was inundated by the sweet, wild,  _ mostly _ innocent concoction of emotions Draco alone seemed capable of generating.  _ I’m going on a date with Draco Malfoy! _ Glancing at the bedside clock, Hermione decided she had just enough time to indulge in a lengthy, Draco-induced fantasy before anything else. She plopped back onto her pillows and conjured a mental image of her younger husband, who for some odd reason insisted on appearing in his Quidditch uniform.  __ Her body quickly warmed to a state of desire as she daydreamed all kinds of romantic scenarios, and now all she could think was that they were both now  _ very _ well rested.  _ We’re going to have a real date with no chaperone or rules, and at the end of it we won’t just kiss and say goodnight . . .  _

She gave herself a good shake and made her way to the still steamy bathroom, where all-consuming visions of a swoon-worthy Draco persisted and her luxurious bathing routine was performed purely by muscle memory. It was only as she stood rubbing scented oil into her smooth, water-softened skin that she even realized she’d taken a bath! In the dressing room, a large white box now sat on one of the couches. Curiosity temporarily overriding the mental image of Draco (who had been twinkling down at her with a knickers-dropping smile), she read the note attached to it:

_ Hair first. Honestly, I’m not even there and I know what you’re thinking. What are you, five years old? Curiosity killed the cat and caused the Malfoy Wife to have horrid, frizzy hair! _

Hermione rolled her eyes and smirked.  _ Only one witch could manage to boss me around long distance, and she’s obviously in cahoots with Trinket _ . The idea of those two conspiring against her was enough to send her scurrying to her dressing table. When her hair had finally been coaxed into soft ringlets Hermione opened the large box to find something she’d forgotten she still owned: her Yule Ball gown. She touched the lovely orchid material with reverent fingers, finding another note amongst the ruffles:

_ Last Saturday in Hogsmeade, Draco told Harry he was planning a date for the two of you after the wedding. The dress was all Harry’s idea, and Draco has no clue. Good thing I had a whole week to find it and have it altered. Honestly, the things I do for you. You’re welcome. _ _ Now go have fun with that romantic husband of yours.  _

She sat for a moment, the enormity of the gesture overwhelming her emotions.  _ ‘It’ll be the Yule Ball all over again,’ _ Harry had said on their way to the Slytherin party.  _ ‘You wore that beautiful gown . . . and Draco just stood by the punch bowl and drooled . . . You didn’t know? He’s liked you for ages, ‘Mione. Really liked you.’ _

_ And now I’m wearing it for him.  _ She imagined Draco’s face when she arrived tonight and grinned happily.  _ I’m going to knock his socks off. And then every other article of his clothing. _ It took a few tries, but finally her hair was pinned up in a semblance of the style she’d worn to that dance. Rune shields in place, she stepped into the dress and a pair of pretty heels and surveyed herself critically in the mirror.  _ That snake won’t know what hit him, _ she thought smugly. The gown, which had been so demure four years ago, now hugged the slender curves she’d since developed and dipped low over her rounder, rune-marked breasts. 

_ I’m going to make Draco Malfoy drool and act like the nineteen-year-old man he is. _ Turning to leave, she realized she had completely forgotten undergarments of any kind and paused, torn between the pleasing possibilities of either choice. In the end she compromised, blushing as she slipped into a dark green thong that made her yelp in surprise as it snugged into place. 

Her Apparition to the corridor outside the library was successful, but an uncontrollable flutter in the region of her heart had her pausing to lean heavily against the doors as waves of nerves and anticipation inundated her.  _ Sweet Circe, there’s nothing and no one to stop us . . . _

__

Tonight she and Draco would begin as they always did, drawn together by their intense mutual attraction; they would shyly dance around each other, until eventually the heat of their desire burned through their insecurities. And then . . . _And then they would be free to do as they_ _wanted_. That was all the motivation she needed to wrench open one heavy library door and seek out her young husband.

The library was dark save for a few wall-mounted torches and the light of the moon, which streamed through the glass-domed ceiling and illuminated the place in a surreal glow. Hermione walked quickly over the heavy carpets of the main floor to a spiral staircase at the back of the immense chamber, wondering if the  _ click click _ of her heels on the stone steps had already alerted Draco to her approach. At the top of the stairs she paused, looking around _. ‘At the back of third floor’ _ , he’d said, ‘ _ in the philosophy of magic section’ _ . Hermione finally found it, rounding the last occluding bookshelf and stopping short at the moonlit scene before her.

He sat sprawled in a low leather chair by the leaded windows, a brilliant-cut crystal glass dangling from his large hand, staring out into the night. His head lay against the back of the chair as he slouched elegantly, long legs stretched out at graceful angles. The moon’s pure light cast his noble features in a study of light and shadow, and Draco could easily have been an angel carved in palest marble. He sat as if frozen by some spell. 

Heart still aflutter, Hermione tiptoed over the carpets with which the alcove was strewn, eyes fixed on her wizard. He looked as though he’d dressed up and then done something that required the removal of a few layers; his white linen dress shirt was tucked into dark grey wool trousers, but his tie hung loosely around his unbuttoned collar, and his robes and waistcoat were draped over the arm of the chair. His hair was slightly windblown, too. All in all, the effect was quite rakish, but she recognized in Draco the prince of every one of her mother’s fairy tales.  _ Only much, much sexier. Swoon. _ A familiar tendril of desire unfurled deep in her gut.

When she was within ten feet of him, her marble angel came to life, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallowing it with a grimace. Then he caught sight of her and rose smoothly to his feet, the heavy glass falling to the carpet with a tonal  _ tunnnnnnng _ . The spell was broken. “Hermione.” The moonlight gleamed on his pale skin and hair and darkened his eyes to flashing quicksilver. Draco paused to rub his palms against the legs of his trousers in a nervous sort of way and then closed the distance between them, bowing over her proffered hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it. 

Hermione noticed the hand gripping hers was slightly damp, and suddenly his drink had context.  _ Draco’s as nervous as I am. _ The insight made her gaze up at him tenderly as she squeezed his fingers. Then she left him briefly to retrieve the glass still lying behind him on the carpet. Holding it up, she gently teased, “For courage, Mr. Malfoy?”

They had unconsciously moved into each other’s arms at some point, and when Draco leaned down toward her Hermione threw her arms around his neck. Unfortunately, she forgot about the heavy crystal glass in her hand and thumped it against his skull. She drew away in horror, and the object was dropped to the floor once more. “Draco, I’m so sorry!” He was bent over, hands clutching his head and shoulders shaking. Had she made her wizard cry? Oh, sweet Merlin, she’d given him another concussion! “Please, please let me see!”  _ Sweet Circe, don’t let him be brain damaged.  _ She pried at his fingers, looking for signs of her careless assault on his beautiful person. 

Draco dodged all her attempts and finally stood to his full height, only to expose the fact that he was shaking with  _ laughter _ . “If you could have seen your face, sweetheart,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. 

“You idiot! I thought I’d  _ brained _ you,” she replied with a huff that was both amused and relieved. “Hang on, let me try again.” Laughing, Hermione leaned down to pick up the glass again when a choked sound emanating from her wizard stopped her. She glanced up.

“Hermione?” Molten eyes poured over her gown as hands traced the sheer fluttery sleeves. “Is this . . .” Her husband brushed a finger along the low neckline and spoke in a low, husky voice. “Oh, sweetheart-“ He broke off abruptly and kissed her. His mouth moved against hers reverently at first, and when she responded in kind, he pushed his tongue between her lips with a low groan.  _ Push, pull, push, pull.  _ He gripped her hip with one large, warm hand and spanned her bare upper back with the other, tethering her against his hard torso.

Hermione wound her arms around Draco’s neck and wove her fingers through his soft hair, holding him in place as best she could. Her body thrummed with pleasure and her imagination began mass-producing incendiary images: of Draco teasing her body, of him bare-chested and sweating and moving above her; of her wrapped around him tightly, arching in pleasure and crying out his name. She moaned into his mouth.

When they broke apart to breathe, she opened her eyes to find that during that eye-crossing kiss he’d backed her against a wall, hiked the skirts of her gown, and lifted her in his arms.  _ How on earth didn’t I notice that? _ At some point her legs had wrapped like vines around his waist, and his erection was now rubbing against every nerve ending between her legs. She gasped at the gratifying pressure.

His nose was resting against her cheek, his mouth moving against her jaw. “You just fulfilled about seven of my fantasies.” He moved against her again, glancing up with a smug look when she gasped again. “Suffice to say they involve the Princess of Gryffindor and this dress. Save for one,” here he tightened his grip of her arse and then smoothed one hand over the bare skin of one buttock. “Which features her in a thong.” Moving his mouth to the corner of her mouth, he murmured, “Have mercy, little witch.” 

_ I don’t think he’s nervous any more.  _ Hermione turned her face in an attempt to capture his lips, and they shared one more push-pull of lips and tongues before he disentangled their limbs with obvious reluctance and set her on her feet. “We need to stop before we get carried away.” At her growl of disapproval he continued with a grin, “This is our first real date; you only ever get one of those. No more  _ anything _ until after dinner.” He seemed to regret his decree almost immediately, though, because he gave a spectacular grimace. 

  
  


Hermione opened her mouth to argue that the date would be even better if they added liberal amounts of sex just as the covenant stirred uneasily within her. Pausing to analyze that feeling, she leaned her head against Draco’s chest and thought hard.  _ You don’t think that’s a good idea?  _ _ Why wouldn’t Draco want that? It’s not like he needs to be careful with me; it’s not my first time- _ here a feeling of caution prickled over her, and a lightning bolt of realization struck her.  _ But it’s his. And it should be every bit as perfect as mine was; not a quickie up against the wall. I promise not to rush him.  _ Within her, the covenant purred and settled back into its customary quiet, vigilant state.  _ Although I’d like to try that position . . . _ She lifted her head and smiled at her handsome husband. “Are you going to woo me, Mr. Malfoy?”

He gave her a smoldering look. “I am, Mrs. Malfoy, and you’re not going to know what hit you.” The statement went straight to the apex of her legs and, strangely enough, her knees, which buckled. Luckily Draco caught her in his arms, a devilish smirk on his handsome face. “Swooning already? But I haven’t yet begun.” At her roll of the eyes he gave a happy, boyish laugh and offered his arm gallantly. “Will you join me for dinner?”

He could have asked her if she was ready to take an unscheduled quiz and she would have answered to the affirmative, although she wouldn’t dare admit that given his current smug state. Still, the confidence suited him; it made the corners of his eyes crinkle and caused his mouth to quirk in a way that practically mandated it be kissed. Hermione took his arm with a smirk of her own. “You’re very cocky tonight, Mr. Malfoy.”  _ And I like it. Even if you are a big tease. _

They rounded a bookshelf to find an indoor picnic, laid out in a cozy sitting area and lit by numerous candelabra floating in the air above their heads. There was a large hamper brimming with food, a silver ice bucket holding an uncorked bottle of champagne, and a portable wizarding wireless set playing soft music.  _ Swoon.  _ She looked between the romantic scene and her husband’s hopeful expression several times, her mouth breaking into a soft smile. “Oh, Draco.”

The blond wizard led her to the blanket and guided her to sit, following suit. “I have every reason to be cocky; you’re here, aren’t you?” As she curled into his side, he poured two flutes of the bubbly drink and offered her one. He leaned toward her with glowing eyes, and for a brief second it looked as though Draco was going to kiss her. Then he seemed to catch himself. He straightened, took a sip of his champagne, and turned to the picnic hamper. “Besides, I have Courtenay’s  _ Tretise _ .”

Hermione gave a throaty moan of pleasure and all but crawled into his lap. “You read, and I’ll feed us both.” Then without waiting for him to agree, she began filling a plate with food. 

They ate their meal in each other’s arms while Draco read aloud from the promised eleventh century translation, squirming each time his Wife’s hand strayed along his inner thigh. In his defense, his voice never wavered and he paused only to eat the morsels she lifted to his mouth.

Hermione quickly discovered she was completely disinterested in an academic pursuit for the first time in . . . well, since the last time Draco had distracted her. She tried to focus, but the honeyed tones of his cultivated, husky voice falling on her ear sent desire curling along every nerve ending in her body. And no matter how she moved, the heady, masculine scent of Draco enveloped her. Best – and worst – of all, her gut pulsed in time to the syllables rolling off her husband’s silver tongue. Finally she raised a finger to his well-shaped mouth, effectively silencing him. “Did you bring a bookmark?” 

If she was expecting him to look disappointed, she was wrong. Draco nipped at her finger and set down the vellum parchment. “Are you having difficulty concentrating, too?”

“Just a bit,” she agreed breathlessly. Remembering her promise to the covenant, she added, “Maybe it’s time for dessert.” She turned to the picnic hamper, resolutely ignoring the fact that Draco’s eyes temporarily clouded over at her unfortunate choice of words.

Dessert turned out to be a brutal test of will: strawberries and cream. Hermione sat transfixed as Draco swallowed thickly, dipped a large berry in cream and then sugar, and pushed it between her lips. His dark eyes never left her mouth as she chewed and swallowed the sweet mouthful and then quickly licked the sugar from her lips. 

In an attempt to break the intensity of the moment, she reached for a strawberry and blurted, “My turn.” 

Draco caught her hand in a firm grip, shaking his head when she stopped to look up at him. “I’m not done,” he said in a hoarse voice.

Six strawberries later, Hermione was dying from the sheer sensuality of the act.  _ Especially because I have to behave, _ she thought wryly. Finally she couldn’t resist giving him a taste of his own, albeit unconscious, medicine: she bit into the strawberry, held the piece of fruit between her lips, and then leaned to press her mouth to Draco’s own, pushing the morsel between his lips with her tongue. She smirked at his momentary confusion, only realizing the extent of her mistake several seconds later when she found herself pinned beneath his bigger, stronger body on the picnic blanket.  _ Oops _ . Rational thought quickly fled, then, because Draco was kissing her again.

Less than a minute later he’d worked her gown up and was running a hand up her inner thigh, when he pulled away to look down at her, evidence of some internal war written all over his face. He sighed and removed his questing hand, using it to scrub his face briskly. “The date isn’t over yet,” he said as if to himself. Then, rising gracefully to his feet and tugging her up with him, he headed back toward the alcove from which they’d started.

Hermione’s body was thrumming with want once again, but she smiled up at her husband with understanding. “What’s next?”

  
  


Draco simply released her hand and walked to the window, which he unlatched and opened. Stepping onto the low sill, he turned with a mischievous smirk and grabbed hold of her, pulling her abruptly into his arms and falling backward out of the window.

It was her worst nightmare come true, and Hermione shrieked as she kicked and fought against her husband’s hold. Mere seconds after the free-fall had begun, however, it stopped in a muffled, anticlimactic sort of way. Beneath her Draco gave a somewhat gratifying groan of pain, and she pushed out of his arms to look around. “What in Circe’s name . . .?” 

Her husband was currently curled in a ball, clutching his groin in misery. He managed to groan, “Flying carpet.”

Eyes squeezed shut, Hermione wrapped her arms around him comfortingly. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” She couldn’t help herself and added, “But it’s your own dumb fault for pulling that prank.”

Draco laughed feebly. “Worth it.”

She started to swat his shoulder and then thought better of it. Instead, she slipped her hand under his, pressing her palm to his now flaccid penis. “I don’t suppose a healing charm would help?”

He groaned again and managed to sit up, trapping her hand with his. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes if you leave your hand where it is.”

She laughed and leaned against his shoulder, doing just as he suggested. “Oh, Draco! Where are we going?”

“Where would you like to go, Princess?” Draco leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Your wish is my command.”

Hermione had always secretly detested the silly title bestowed on her by her classmates, but now it seemed altogether fitting.  _ After all, I’ve married the prince.  _ She gave a goofy grin. “Errrr.” Really, it would have been ridiculous to attempt more complex syllables than that, because even clutching his testicles Draco Malfoy was slowly killing her brain cells with his sex appeal. 

Taking her noncommittal sound as an answer, he replied, “Very well, then, the river.” 

The carpet moved away from the Manor slowly, and it was so unlike the swift, erratic movements of a broom that Hermione began to relax almost at once. “I think I could get used to this mode of travel. It’s  _ wonderful _ .” And it was; for once, she felt perfectly safe high in the air.

Draco chuckled in her ear and pulled her closer. He seemed to be recovering quickly from his mishap. “This one has been in the family for a thousand years,” Draco said in an amused tone. “An ancestor of ours  _ acquired _ it. I think Muggles tell part of the tale, actually; have you heard of Baba Yaga and foolish Ivan?”

“It’s Russian folklore; go on.” Hermione relaxed yet further, stretching out her legs in front of her on the large carpet. They had rounded the side of the Manor and were passing over the formal garden now, where Albus and his peahens were roosting on the stone balustrade overlooking the lower fields.

He smirked. “Actually, his name was Vivian Malfoy, and he was the only Malfoy wizard  _ ever _ to be sorted into a House other than Slytherin.” Leaning low, he muttered, “Gryffindor.” At her indelicate snort, he continued in a normal tone of voice, “He liked adventure and taking things that didn’t belong to him. He stole this rug, among other things, and Malfoys weren’t welcome in Russia until the fifteenth century.”

Under her hand, Draco seemed to be returning to his usual aroused state, so she slipped her fingers out from under his and wrapped them around his arm. It was difficult enough to ignore her own growing physical desire, and she was trying desperately to let this evening play out as Draco had so carefully planned it.

Draco made an unhappy noise, but the effect was ruined by his grin. “You seem to have a magic touch, little witch.” 

Below them the world glittered in shades of moonlit silver. Hermione scooted bravely over to carpet’s edge to look at the fields beneath them, soaking in the dream-like ambiance.  _ My first real date, and it’s been perfect. For me at least; Draco might have a few bruises. _

They were approaching their destination now. It lay before them, a rippling ribbon of moonbeam. Slowly, slowly the carpet sank through the air until it was flying inches from the water, which became louder the closer they came to it. Now the river babbled its secrets in its strange, wet, tongue as if wanting nothing more than to be understood; and for one brief instant, Hermione wondered if even the water on this estate might be sentient. Then she was distracted by the blond wizard beside her, and the thought was gone as swiftly as the river running beneath them.

Draco twined his fingers with Hermione’s and urged her lie down on her stomach beside him, face hanging over the edge of the carpet. He turned expectantly as he dropped his fingers into the water.

The Malfoy Wife followed suit, laughing in delight at the fine spray thrown up into her face. Leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder, she confided, “I love water.” She felt more than saw her husband nod.

Her murmured into her curls, “That’s the Slytherin in you.”

_ I don’t have a Slytherin in me. Yet.  _ She turned with a grin, tipping up her chin to offer him her mouth in silent supplication. 

Draco let go of her hand to wrap his around her shoulders, and he lifted his other from the water to cup her cheek lovingly. When his lips met hers, they were warm, soft, and worshipful. It was without doubt the most romantic kiss they’d ever shared and Hermione was in danger of melting into a puddle of goo and sliding right off the carpet into the river, when Draco broke away and spoke against her mouth. “I want to be with you, Hermione. Will you come to my bed tonight?”

“Yes, Draco” she sighed against his lips, and the words morphed into more kisses as her mouth formed them. The moon continued gilding the world in silver light, the river murmured its wet secrets, and the flying carpet glided on, but these trivial details were lost to the two lovers. When they returned to the Manor, and how they made it to Draco’s room unSplinched would remain mysteries for all but the magic carpet and the covenant, but that is exactly where they found themselves a short time later.

When Hermione realized they were no longer floating above the river in a spectacular lip-lock, she stepped away from Draco and looked around at what was obviously his bedroom. 

The room was every bit as colossal and windowed as Lucius’ had been, but bore no resemblance to it apart from that. There were no drapes to block the bright moon, and every inch of the space was illuminated in that surreal light. A colossal bed of heavy, dark wood dominated one long wall, and an equally imposing fireplace bracketed by towering bookshelves took up the one opposite. Between them was a seating area with a couch and long, low table, which was piled high with books. 

The details of the room became irrelevant, however, when Draco slipped his arms around her from behind and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Hermione,” he breathed against the skin of her neck.

The young Wife made a quiet noise of pleasure as she stroked her fingers over the arms holding her so tightly.  _ This is it _ . A pleasant buzz of anticipation began spreading through her body.

He kissed her cheek. “I want to give you something before I forget.”

Hermione grimaced before she turned to look up at her husband.  _ I only want you. Preferably now. _ She opened her mouth to say just that when she saw the expression of boyish excitement on his face. “All right,” she laughed.  _ But I’ll wait. _

He took her by the hand, leading her across the room to a door. There he paused nervously. “If you don’t like it, I’ll understand-” He opened the door and led her into a very masculine version of her own dressing room, where two familiar, shaggy faces greeted her.

Hermione gave a small, startled jump. “Sweet Circe! What in Merlin’s name are Castor and Pollux doing in your dressing room, Draco?” The two gigantic dogs lounged by a couch, tongues hanging out of their mouths, and seemed to be laughing at her in the very nicest of ways.

“They’ve been keeping your present company since he arrived Wednesday morning.” Just then there was a tiny sound from somewhere between the hounds and an accompanying orange flash of movement. “That’s him now.”

“What on earth was that?” She walked toward Castor and Pollux and sank down to her knees near their huge heads. “What are you two hiding?” She asked, looking between their intelligent faces. The dogs still looked amused, so Hermione cautiously leaned closer, searching through their sprawl of shaggy limbs and bodies. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco come and kneel down beside her.

There was another  _ mewl _ from somewhere near by, and it jarred an old memory loose: one of a bandy-legged, smooshed-face familiar who had warmed her feet and kept her company through years of lonely nights. Suddenly a small orange thing popped out from under a large canine leg and pinned her with its yellow gaze.

“It’s a-” Hermione couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence as the fuzzy little creature mewled again. She scooped it up, alternating her intense gaze between Draco and the tiny Kneazle. Tears pricked at her eyes. “What . . . what did you . . . what is this?”

Draco was looking at her in that solemn way of his that made her heart pause before the next beat. “It’s a Kneazle. For you.”

“Well, obviously! Nevertheless, what were you . . .” She was distracted by a string of thoughts.  _ Draco had this all planned out, just like Harry said. _ What was it like for him, she wondered, to have watched her from afar for so long, wanting to show his feelings in ways just like this? Even now, he was trying desperately not to chase her away with his attentions.  _ As if that would be possible.  _ The little ball of fur bit down on her thumb with vigor.

“I remembered the one who kept you company at school, and thought . . .” He trailed off earnestly and looked down at his hands, which were clamped into white-knuckled fists. “Hermione, I’m so sorry if I’ve upset you. At the time it seemed like a very good idea, and-“

Halfway through his explanation, Hermione set the Kneazle back down on the floor and flung herself at her younger husband, who toppled backward under the assault. Sprawled across his body, she pressed her mouth to his with a sob, and the proceeded to cover the rest of his face with similar kisses. “Draco,” she breathed against the pale skin of his cheek. “My sweet, thoughtful, wonderful wizard. Thank you.” She repeated that last part over and over again as she dried a few tears on the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.  _ Draco bought me a little Kneazle simply because he wanted to make me happy. _

He looked up at her with a look of utter bewilderment. “I am . . . confused. Are you upset or happy?”

“Very, very happy.” Hermione gave a gasping laugh against his shoulder. 

Draco looked tremendously relieved. “I did well?”

Hermione hummed in happiness and nodded, leaning down for a lingering kiss. “You did  _ very _ well.” She propped herself up on his chest and stared down at her thoughtful young husband admiringly. “He’s lovely.”  _ So are you. _

His happy smile morphed into a smug smirk, and he trailed his large hands up and down her sides several times, each time lengthening the stroke until his thumbs were brushing the shields covering her rune-marked breasts. He turned his head and addressed the hounds, never taking his eyes from his Wife. “I don’t suppose you fellows have somewhere better to be.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Castor and Pollux heave themselves up to stand, one with the Kneazle dangling from its huge maw by the nape of its neck. As they passed through to the outer room, Hermione could have sworn she heard them snicker. Then she was distracted by her husband, who had pulled her down to kiss her senseless.

Time slowed in the dressing room as a sweet, aching desire thickened the very air. Eventually their hungry mouths broke apart for air, and beneath her palm Draco’s heart stuttered. He was looking up at her with an odd expression, hands wrapped tightly around her waist. “You’re here.”

Hermione raised a hand to his face and traced its beautiful lines. “Where else would I be?”

In a swift movement, he rolled them over so that it was  _ he _ who was looking down at  _ her, _ and his expression was one of wonder. “I hoped, and I remained faithful to that hope, but it seemed like an impossible dream, Hermione. And now you’re  _ here _ , in my room. You’re my  _ Wife _ .” His voice had dropped to a reverent whisper that matched the soft light in his eyes. Draco suddenly blinked rapidly and looked away, swallowing audibly. When he turned back to her concerned gaze, his eyes were wet and his smiling lips trembled. “This must be a dream.”

“If this were a dream I’d undoubtedly be naked,” Hermione quipped, drawing him down into her arms, “but just to make sure, I’ll pinch you.” She attempted to do just that, but the skin of his side was stretched tight over lean muscle and in the end all she managed was to make him flinch.  _ Draco’s ticklish _ . She filed that piece information away for later and kissed the tip of his nose. 

The curly-haired witch stroked her fingers through her sweetheart’s hair, waiting for him to master the powerful emotions he was experiencing.  _ So many layers to both of my wizards, _ she mused,  _ and at their very core they’re both the most sensitive men I’ve ever met. _ The idea made her smile happily.  _ What a lucky witch am I, to be loved and wooed by the Malfoy men. _ That thought was accompanied by a lightning bolt of realization, and she sat up abruptly.  _ And now it’s my turn to do the wooing. _

Draco was looking at her in worry. “Is there something wrong?” It seemed to overcome his other emotions, and he sat up with a frown. “Are you all right, little witch?”

“Absolutely not,” she grinned, clambering to her feet. “I believe we agreed to dance on our wedding day, and since you went and broke your thick skull that didn’t happen.” She offered him her hand, marveling once again at the difference in their sizes when he rose to his full height and loomed above her. “ _ You  _ owe  _ me _ a dance, husband.”

Draco’s eyes shone in comprehension. “In that case, I’d like to settle my debt.” He tightened his grip of her hand and yanked her all the way to his bedroom, pausing only long enough to turn on a wizarding wireless set on one bookshelf. He led her to the wall of windows, turning to her with an elated smile stretching his well-shaped mouth. Then, drawing her against him and wrapping one arm around her waist, he led her in their first dance.

The popular wizarding love song playing could have been written exactly for this moment; words of tender longing and a lovely melody floated around them, intensifying the romantic mood. Hermione leaned her head against Draco’s chest, inhaling her favorite scent as their bodies moved in the ebb and flow of the dance.  _ Why was I in such a rush for sex tonight? Every part of this evening has been like a piece of a slowly built puzzle, and now they’ve all fit together to make this perfect moment. _ “This was the best first date I could ever have imagined, Draco. Thank you.” She felt his fingers tugging gently at her hair and guessed he was unpinning it.

“I’ve had a long time to plan it,” he answered quietly. “Years, in fact.” Now he was combing through her unbound curls as he spoke against the top of her head. “I still can’t believe you’re wearing this gown. It’s my favorite dream come true.”

The tender words, spoken in that soft, husky voice of his caused her heartstrings to flutter once more.  _ This is first love _ , she thought.  _ Uncertainty on both our parts, but so much sweetness. And desire. _ They’d stopped dancing at the end of that first song, and now she flung her arms around his neck, balancing on tiptoe to maintain her hold. It caused her head to tip back, bringing her eyes to meet his, and she gave him a goofy grin. “Hmmmm.”  _ Woo accomplished. _

Draco didn’t smile back; he  _ smoldered _ . His eyes burned down on her, scorching her skin wherever they glanced. “You’re so lovely, Hermione.” His voice flowed over her warm and low. So did his hands, which traced the lines and curves of her torso and pulled her impossibly closer to him. “Have you any idea how much I want you?” His clever fingers found the fastener of her gown, and he looked down at her as if asking permission to continue.

_ This is it. Finally!  _ She exhaled in relief. “I want you, too.”  _ And now I’m going to spontaneously combust. _ The want that had hummed throughout her body all evening was beginning to pulse in her core, and she squirmed against him in pleasant agony.

Was she on fire? As Draco lowered the zipper on her gown Hermione felt tiny flames erupt wherever he touched, rising in heat and intensity until they burned below the surface and spread through her body like Fiendfyre. With each kiss they shared, his lips and tongue burned against hers until she was sure smoke was pouring from her ears. 

He ran his mouth across her cheek to the sensitive spot below her ear as his fingers moved along the newly bared skin of her back. “ _ Merlin _ , you smell good. It’s been driving me crazy all night. You’re all soft, warm girl and bubbles. Did you take a bath this evening?”

Hermione moaned at the combined sensations of his hands and mouth and pushed into his chest. “Mmhmmm.” She scrabbled at the buttons of his shirt, impatiently pushing it off his shoulders. When he stood before her, bared to the waist except for his tie, she pulled away to watch as she ran her fingers over the muscles of his upper torso in fascination.  _ And spent the entire time imagining you in your Quidditch trousers. _

“That’s something I’ve imagined regularly.” He caught her mouth in a brief, hungry kiss, “You’re not leaving here until I see you in my tub.”

Quidditch had gently sculpted him, dividing his body into pleasing groups of defined muscles. Hermione followed the dips and bumps of his shoulders and chest, cataloguing them in her mind.  _ Deltoids _ .  _ Pectorals _ .  _ Abdominals. Obliques.  _ “Whatever you want,” she replied absently. Her fingers ran over his nipples and on down to dip under the waistline of his trousers and when she felt him shudder, she did it again. 

At those words he went rigid under her touch, transforming before her eyes from sweet, cautious Draco to his cocky, confident alter ego. “Whatever I want?” He caught her hands in one of his. “Oh, little witch.” Draco ran his fingers along the fluttery sleeves of her gown, leaning low to press his mouth against her shoulder as he slid them down her arms. He sank down on his knees in front of her, slowly exposing her to the moonlight. When at last Hermione stood before him in nothing more than a pair of pretty heels and a Slytherin green thong, he groaned. “This. This is what I want.” Then he stood, swung her up in his arms, and strode to his bed.

He set her down on her feet and leaned past her to pull down the bedding, stopping her when she started to slip off her shoes. “Those stay on.” Then, with a firm shove, he sent her backward onto his bed and looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Don’t move a muscle. I’m memorizing every glorious inch of the moment Hermione Jean Malfoy first lay in my bed.”

She looked up at him from where she lay sprawled over the grey silk sheets, head and shoulders propped up on the pillows. So many emotions had passed through her in the past few hours, but Hermione’s reaction to this sudden shift in her husband was by far the strongest and most primal. In that moment, as he bent over her oozing pure, undiluted sex, two things happened: first, she felt a gush of arousal flood her knickers, and then she reached up, grabbed hold of Draco’s tie, and yanked him down on top of her.

He caught the majority of his weight on his forearms and pressed his mouth to hers with a deep moan as one of his hands cupped a breast. “I’ve spent the last two hours trying not to think about the fact that you were wearing  _ these _ under  _ that _ dress.” He traced the filigreed sunburst shield with his fingers. “Circe above, but you look unbelievably hot in them.” He kissed her again, pushing his tongue past her lips aggressively and then pulling back to murmur, “As much as I like them, and I do like them very, very much, they need to come off.  _ Now _ . They’re keeping me from touching you.”

“Oh, mother of all magic,  _ YES. _ ”  __ She wriggled her hands between their torsos and unclipped the shields immediately, gasping in pleasure when his lips closed around one erect peak and his fingers found the other. “Dra-a-a-a-c-o-o-o!” 

What had been sweet and wanting less than five minutes before morphed into immediate need and demand. Suddenly there was too much space, too much fabric, too much  _ everything _ between them, and there ensued a frenzy of frantic noise and movement. Hermione’s feet kicked off her shoes as her hands sought out Draco’s tie and belt, shucking them all off with fierce determination.

Draco alternated his attention between her two breasts, holding his weight above her with the arm he had wrapped under her hips, his hand palming her backside in a fierce grip. The fingers of his free hand rubbed over the crotch of her satin knickers, causing her to buck into his touch. “Such a sweet, wet witch I have in my bed, and so ready for me.” he moved up to her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip, “You’ve soaked right through these pretty knickers.” He nudged apart her legs and knelt between them, tugging off the tiny garment as he continued to kiss her silly.

Hermione took this opportunity to sit up and unfasten his trousers, closing her fingers around his hard shaft where it strained against his boxers. She was gratified to feel her wizard gasp mid-kiss. Then the tables turned on her again as Draco pushed her back to the bed. He settled down in the cradle of her hips eagerly, but she resisted, arguing against his lips, “Clothes  _ off _ .”

Draco, who had been in the process of hiking her leg around his waist, pulled back from her swollen mouth just enough to catch her gaze with his and growl, “ _ No _ .” He moved his lips to her neck, where he began sucking and biting that tender flesh. “No more rules.” He maneuvered his boxers down with one hand and pushed the tip of his cock against her opening. “No more waiting.” Then he pushed forward, entering her in one smooth, long stroke. “Nnnnnnngh!”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut with a loud groan as every nerve ending along her seam pulsed from the exquisite resistance. Her body was so painfully aroused that every slight movement threatened to send her over the edge. She arched her pelvis up against his and braced one foot at the back of his corresponding knee to keep him exactly where she wanted him.

Draco looked as though he were in agony. “Fuck, Hermione! Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . I can’t . . .” Shaking his head and clenching his teeth, he muttered, “McGonagall and Fudge skinny-dipping. Sprout and Flitwick shagging. Dumbledore snogging an even older wizard.” He gave a gasp of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. That’s better.”

“ _ Move _ ,” she whispered urgently, pressing her hands against his lower back to bring him in even closer contact with her. “For Circe’s sake, Draco,  _ move _ !” Already the walls of her channel were fluttering around him, and she bucked her hips in frantic search of more friction.

That was all the encouragement he seemed to need, because at her words Draco groaned and began moving in slow, measured thrusts.  _ Push, pull, push, pull.  _ His arms managed to envelop her completely without actually crushing her, and his hands clutched her shoulder and arse respectively. Words dripped from his beautiful mouth, alternately sweet and filthy, crooned in his soft, husky voice. “Spread your legs wider for me, pretty witch. I need to be inside you even deeper.”

Beneath his sweating body, Hermione complied with a purr of approval. “Mother of . . . keep talking!” She clawed at his lower back in an attempt to bring them even closer together.

“You feel so good wrapped around my cock, Princess,” he murmured through clenched teeth, pumping in and out of her faster now. “So much better than I ever imagined. So fucking perfect.” Eyes stormy and face flushed, he bent down and pressed his mouth to hers for a brief, uncoordinated kiss that was broken by the force of his next thrust. “Nnnnngh!” 

  
  


It was coming; she could feel it beginning even as Draco ground out her name in an anguished tone. And then she was falling off a metaphorical cliff, choking out sounds of pleasure and losing her death-grip on her husband as blinding lights and silent explosions rocked her body.

For a brief second Draco lay heavily on top of her, panting in her ear. Then he pushed up onto his forearms and looked down at her in a state of euphoria that seemed equal to her own. He slid out of her, his arms never relinquishing their tight hold. “So that’s what all the fuss is about. That was incredible.”

Hermione smiled blissfully. “It was amazing.” She raised a floppy hand to his forehead, wiping at a bead of perspiration. The action drew her attention to their overall sweaty state, and she shifted beneath him. “We should shower before we ruin the sheets.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Draco’s smirk was wicked as he responded in a dark, sinful voice, “That was a practice round; it didn’t even count. We’ve only just begun.”


	75. Saturday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mes amis, you have been deprived of this ongoing silliness for far too long. My hand and wrist have been casted for the past few weeks, which has made many things difficult (typing, for instance). No, I didn't damage myself in an heroic manner. In fact, I tripped over a sunbeam and landed quite awkwardly; now my traitorous corporeal being is making mayhem in the form of an autoimmune reaction. Silver lining? Why, yes indeed -- Mr G and the spawn have not allowed me to do anything useful for aeons. I have been thinking of you all -- in particular, those friends who have been leaving notes. Thank you for your kind messages! Hopefully I will have this damned thing cut off my arm soon, and then I won't have to dictate as Glitter Jr types this out in his diligent way. I must say he's a remarkably accurate typist (and now he's glaring at me and threatening to stop ty

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Saturday Night

Hermione pushed playfully at her husband’s chest even as she wrapped her legs around him yet tighter. A familiar shape was already returning to its long, hard glory against her thigh. “Oh,  _ really _ ?” She raised a challenging eyebrow and just barely managed to swallow her smirk.  _ He really is a superior wizard. It must be a family trait. _

Draco regarded her smugly and rolled sideways, pulling Hermione with him until she ended up straddling his hips with a small yelp of surprise. He looked up at her with an admiring expression and then dropped his eyes to her bare chest. “Of course.” He raised his hands to stroke the curves of her breasts, cupping their slight weight in his palms as he pushed his hips up to hers. “ _ Merlin,  _ but you’re gorgeous _.” _

Hermione looked down at the wizard beneath her. Even with only the moonlight to illuminate the room, she could see his face was lightly flushed and still damp with sweat from their previous exertions. Draco’s pale hair was mussed, his lips were swollen, and his eyes regarded her with heavy-lidded appreciation. Her heart sped up at the sight.  _ So are you _ , she thought possessively.  _ And you’re entirely too cocky sometimes. _ “I wish I could say the same about you; you’re a mess.” She flicked his ear gently. “And who’s to say I  _ want _ more than a practice round?”  _ I like it. _

Draco flexed his large hands over the lush orbs of flesh he was holding and began stroking his thumbs over their tight peaks. He was watching her closely with a small, knowing smirk on his face that spread as she arched into his touch and gasped involuntarily. He released one breast and took hold of a handful of her hair, pulling her down for a voracious kiss. “You’re in my bed, and I plan to take full advantage of the fact. I’ll accept my grade after this round.” His hand stayed tangled in her curls, holding her close. “Perhaps I’ll give you one, too.”

She pushed away as much as she could against his strong hold, one hand splayed against the muscles of his broad, pale chest. “You know,” she teased, “You’re  _ entirely _ too self-assured at times, you troll.”

Draco moved so quickly that Hermione had no time to react. In the space of a second he caught both of her wrists in a tight grip and rolled them back over. Now he loomed over her again, this time holding her hands firmly above her head. He grinned down at her. “So far tonight you’ve called me an idiot, a troll, and said I had a thick skull. Your romantic vocabulary needs work, sweetheart.” Left hand still holding hers firmly in place, he slid his right slowly down so that his long fingers spanned between her breasts. Seconds later he resumed his attention to them. Then, dipping his mouth down to hers, he murmured, “Shall I tutor you in how to speak to your husband?” He settled his hips between hers.

She arched automatically into his touch _. _ “ _ Absolutely not,” _ she giggled. The combination of the attention to what Hermione was now internally calling  _ his  _ rune and the reemergence of his sexy, cocky side was deadly, but she resisted the urge to surrender immediately. She  _ liked  _ this dominant Draco who was staring down at her lustfully, and she wanted their game to continue as long as possible.  _ And if I’m lucky, filthy-mouthed Draco will come out to play. _ That last thought sent a shiver of pure anticipation running down her spine. “Drac-o-o-o-o-h,” she moaned even as she bucked against his hold. The movement intensified the feel of his erection pressed along her seam, and she moaned again.

He had begun plucking at her nipples, and now he slid down her body enough to nip at one with his lips. “Mmmm-mmm. You can do better than that, little witch.” He glanced up at her, eyes shining in the moonlight. “I think I’ll keep you just like this until you say something nice to me.” 

Hermione struggled to free her hands, trying desperately to keep her expression clear of the arousal now coursing through her system. It thrummed low in her gut, radiating to every nerve ending. “Oh, no! Your head is far too big already,” she laughed shakily. “And that’s extortion!”

Draco looked at her speculatively for a moment. Suddenly his gaze shot sideways, and then he turned back to grin at her wolfishly. “Oh, little witch,” he chuckled as he reached for something beside them on the bed with his free hand. He held up his discarded tie and made a show of bringing it slowly up to where he held her hands above her head. “That’s what happens when you lie down with snakes.” He knotted one end of the long piece of silk around her wrists and then attached the other end to the headboard with a wandless Sticking Charm. He looked at her closely, pausing as if seeking her approval to continue. When she unsuccessfully tried to bite back a grin, he seemed satisfied.

As Hermione gave a few experimental tugs against her bonds, Draco pushed up and moved to sit on his calves between her legs, and when she returned her attention to him she found him looking down at her triumphantly.

Pinned under his appraising gaze and separated from him by more distance than was comfortable, Hermione was suddenly aware of the vulnerability of her naked, relatively immobile situation, regardless of the current atmosphere. Trapped thus, it didn’t matter that they’d already been intimate, and that he’d seen every inch of her. She squirmed uncomfortably and looked away from her husband.

He seemed to understand immediately. Returning to his previous position hovering inches above her, he released the tie and gathered her in his arms, tipping her chin so that their eyes met. His were ablaze with remorse. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he whispered. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

_ My sweet, sensitive Draco. You’re every bit as vulnerable as I was just a few seconds ago.  _ The awkward moment was gone as quickly as it had reared its head, and she wrapped her limbs around him in a reassuring squeeze. “Oh, Draco,” she whispered back. “Don’t apologize. I . . . I  _ liked  _ what we were doing.” She hesitated, feeling foolish for ruining their game. “And I’d very much like to do it again.”  _ And hand of Merlin, it’s true: I want to be tied up, spanked, and whatever else you and Lucius can think up. _ Unbidden erotic images flooded her mind suddenly, causing her core to throb almost painfully.

“Just not tonight,” he clarified, relief washing over his handsome face. He brushed his lips against hers several times in a row.

The sweetness of the gesture pierced Hermione’s heart, and she ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to convey the feeling of deep tenderness welling up within her. “Just not right  _ this second _ . If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep my options as open as possible,” she quipped after a moment, pulling him down for an eye-crossing kiss in an attempt to restore their previous mood. When they broke apart to breathe, she ventured, “I’ll say something nice about you, but only if you do that thing again.” When he looked at her blankly she took one of his hands and brought it with both of hers above her head. She gave him a lustful look. “Hold tight with your hand; I want to be able to struggle.”

Draco gave a deep groan. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He tightened his fingers around her wrists, never taking his eyes from hers. “Where were we?”

“I was lying down with a snake.” She hummed in satisfaction, pulling against his grip and arching up against his larger, broader body. “And I believe I was promised tutoring.”

He kissed her thoroughly again and murmured against the corner of her mouth, “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable, but my idea of tutoring involves saying inappropriate things and bringing you to orgasm with my fingers.” He drew back slightly, evidently gauging her response. When all she could manage was a thick, throaty moan, he smirked. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione moaned.

Draco’s confidence seemed to be restored by her response, because the cocky edge returned to his husky, cultured tones. “I believe you have something to say to me first.” He ran his free hand down her shoulder and over her breast to tease its peak with the lightest of touches. When all she could do was push into his touch and gasp, he offered, “I’ll tell you what; I’ll give an example, and then you try.” At her frantic nod, he moved down her body and spoke against his rune. “Mrs. Malfoy, you have the prettiest breasts. I’ve been fantasizing about them for years.” He leaned down and pressed a lingering wet kiss to the tight nub he’d been teasing. 

Hermione made a strangled sound and tried to pull him closer with the grip of her legs around his hips. She tugged at his hold and rocked her pelvis, seeking relief from the heavy pressure between her legs, but he had shifted down enough that there was none to be found at this angle. Her brain tried its best to perform the task she’d been given, but her mouth seemed to have forgotten how to articulate speech. Finally she managed, “Errrr . . . your hands.”

He lifted his head and shook it in a disapproving manner. “You can do better than that, Mrs. Malfoy.” His fingers drifted back to her tight peak and gave it a firm tug and twist. “Perhaps you need more help than I originally thought.” He began a steady rhythm of the same motions and alternated between breasts, all the while pinning her with his gaze. “Tits like yours were never meant to be covered. I want to find you topless in the library, reading some ancient tome by candlelight.” He groaned at his own words and thrust against her thigh.

“For the love of all that’s magic, please don’t stop,” she begged unashamedly.

He leaned down and ran his tongue over her nipple and then breathed, “I get hard just thinking about touching them. I could come just from sucking at them.”

His breath hit the wet flesh, drawing another agonized sound from Hermione, and then he lifted his head and shifted farther up her body so that their faces were aligned once more. “Your turn.” His hand drifted down her side, tracing intricate patterns in her skin.

She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to ignore the fact that her husband’s fingers were slowly making their way over her hip. She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of handsome, cocky Draco directly above her and stammered, “I love your hands. They’re . . .” She paused, thinking of what those hands were capable of. “Big, and beautiful, and gentle; I like the feel of your Quidditch callouses when you touch me.” The compliment was far easier to give that she’d imagined, given the blush-worthy images that were running through her head as she spoke those words.

They seemed to appease Draco, who dragged his fingertips through the trimmed curls covering her mound and dipped them between her lower lips. “Do you mean when I touch you like this?” His voice was hoarse, and he moved his mouth to speak against the skin beneath her ear. “I used to dream of doing this to you in the school library.”

“Sweet Mother of . . . Dra- . . . !” She babbled, moving her mouth restlessly over the fragrant skin of his jaw. It was something she enjoyed; surely Draco would enjoy it, too, she reasoned.

The occasional grunt he gave seemed linked directly to the actions of her lips and teeth. “Would you have liked that? I would imagine sitting down beside you as you studied at school; preferably in a corner where we wouldn’t be disturbed. Whispering in your ear.  _ Unh _ . One arm wrapped around you, my hand up your jumper playing with your breasts, the other up your skirt with my fingers sliding through the wet folds between your legs.  _ Mmmm _ .” His fingers were now doing just that at a slow, maddening tempo.

Hermione whimpered at the scenario he described and tried to move against his hand. “ _ For Merlin’s sake _ , Draco. Don’t tease!” She jerked at his restraining hand several times and then asked out of lustful curiosity, “What would you have whispered?”

Draco teased her mouth with his, nipping at her lips and mimicking the movements of his fingers with his tongue, only to retreat too soon for her liking. He growled, “Every dirty thing you can imagine.” Then he moved his hand in such a way that his forefinger now circled the opening of her channel at the same time that his thumb made a similar path around her swollen clitoris.

She writhed beneath him as pleasure radiated outward from his touch and threatened to short-circuit her brain. Was she drooling? She swallowed thickly, tipping her head back and releasing a primal sound that somehow conveyed every remaining thought she possessed.  _ He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die of teasing. _

Draco’s answering chuckle was dark, and as thick as her audible swallow. “You’re so wet Princess; you’re running down my fingers.” He brought his hand up between their faces. “Do you see?” He inhaled deeply and ran his tongue up his glistening forefinger. “This is the sweetest compliment you can give me.  _ I  _ do this to you.”

Hermione nodded, aroused beyond reason at the simple act. “Yes!”  _ Now get back to work! _

Draco looked at her for a moment with heavy-lidded eyes, and then he wiped his wet fingers over her mouth. No sooner had he finished the quick, unexpected gesture than his lips and tongue were removing it with desperate little laps and sucks, and when he was done he groaned, “That’s the best-tasting lip gloss of all.”

He was so distracted that Hermione finally managed to break free of his hold. She took hold of his hand and directed it back to its previous place between her legs, practically snarling in her impatience. “Draco, touch me!” 

Her husband smirked down at her. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” Resuming his former torturously slow ministrations he surmised, “But I’m beginning to realize you like  _ being _ bossed around even  _ more _ at times like this. Now keep your hands above your head, and ask me nicely.”

Hermione obeyed instantly, shivering at his dominant tone. How many layers did her younger husband have? This particular one needed to be bookmarked for much,  _ much _ further study! “ _ Please _ touch me, Draco,” she said in a much nicer tone.  _ Or I’ll hex you into next week. _

He ran his fingers through her slick outer folds a few times and then settled his fingers back into those two magical places. His forefinger circling the opening of her channel he murmured, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now.”

And he did just that, but in the most maddening way possible. It started with just the tip of his forefinger dipping barely inside her, Hermione begging for more. Draco moved his hand so that now he cupped her mound and pushed the heel of his palm firmly against her clit. With motions that were still agonizingly slow, he physically began winding that coil of want and ache and need within Hermione’s gut. And he talked –  _ oh,  _ but he talked! Despite the tremble of his limbs and his own obvious arousal, Draco never ceased his filthy seduction.

“You’d like more  _ what _ , sweetheart?” He asked when her incoherent babbling began. “Would you like  _ more _ of this finger? Or perhaps you’d like  _ more _ than one?” And when she simply nodded he did both, increasing the speed with which he moved his hand. He was stretched out beside her now, and his eyes were glued to where his hand rocked against her at a fast, jerky pace. “Such a greedy little pussy you have, Princess. It’s sucking my fingers deeper with each stroke. Let’s add another, shall I?”

She was so close. For her part, Hermione thrashed on the bed as she bucked into the undulating pressure between her legs. Her heart thundered, her lungs heaved, and the sound of someone chanting Draco’s name fell on her ears.  _ That’s me, _ she thought in a split second of clarity. Then she was drawn back under the haze of lust her husband had created. The coil within her gut slowly reached its maximum tension, and she arched her body in preparation for the increasingly familiar sensation of euphoric free-fall.

Draco’s voice was now shaking with his efforts, but he continued relentlessly. “Come on my fingers, little witch, and I’ll catch every drop with my tongue.”

Fingers tearing at the pillowcase beneath her head, Hermione teetered on the edge of her climax for the span of two crashing heartbeats and then fell over its edge with an agonized cry relief and delight. Her muscles, which had been strung tense as wires for the duration of Draco’s game, relaxed as she sank into the mattress, a noodle-limbed, sated witch. “ _ Merlin _ .”

Her eyes had dropped shut, so she gave a startled jump when she felt Draco move quickly from beside her. The next second she felt his arms wrap around her thighs, and then his tongue began moving over her inner thighs and outer folds. She jumped again when he lapped a bit too roughly against her over-stimulated nub. “ _ Gently _ .” She slid a hand to his head and stroked her fingers through his damp hair.

A minute later he crawled back up to look down at her, an indefinable look in his eyes. He settled between her legs, thrusting several times against her leg. “I’m  _ Draco _ , by the way,” he rumbled in her ear. He let his full weight land on top of her briefly and added, “Merlin’s about a thousand years older than me.”

Hermione gave a tired laugh with the last breath in her lungs and pushed at his chest. “Off!”

Still moving against her, Draco rolled them over so that Hermione lay draped over his broad chest. She rested her chin on her folded arms and looked down at him with a soft smile. “That was lovely; thank you.”

He returned the look with heavy-lidded eyes and reached up to trace the outline of her lips. “It certainly was. You look radiant when you fall apart.” His other large, warm hand stroked down her back and over her rump, coming to rest there with a flex of his long fingers.

Hermione ran a lazy finger over his cheek, opening her mouth when he briefly pressed his thumb between her lips. “I might need just a minute to recuperate,” she said apologetically at the same time as an obscure expression passed over Draco’s moonlit face. “What?”

He had been staring at her mouth, and now gave her a slightly guilty look. “Nothing at all.”

Hermione’s body was tired, but her brain had recovered quickly in the past ten seconds. It lined up the clues scattered across her husband’s face and body and came to a lightning bolt conclusion.  _ He’d like me to reciprocate, but he won’t ask.  _ She smirked self-consciously but pushed off his chest with confidence and began slowly moving down his torso. As she went, she pressed soft, lingering kisses to his skin.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He caught a handful of her hair, holding her in place by his navel.

Hermione rubbed her nose back and forth in the trail of dark blonde hair on his lower abdomen. “Studying.” She looked up at him through her lashes and pulled against his grip. “I might need a tutor.”

Draco groaned, and the hand in her hair tightened before it released its handful of curls. “Then I offer my services in the name of education. What are you studying, exactly?” His voice was once again deep and hoarse.

She grinned against his skin and continued her downward path. “The refractory period of superior nineteen-year-old wizards,” she hummed. “Scientifically speaking, you really shouldn’t be able to . . . errrrrr, you know what I mean.” To cover her verbal hesitancy Hermione ran her fingers through his thatch of pale curls and wrapped them as best she could around his long, hard shaft.

He looked incredibly pleased with her unfinished compliment, which for some reason slightly irritated her. Wanting nothing more than to reduce him to her own previously gibbering state, she lowered her head to the tip of his erection and looked up at him, saying in a tone she hoped was sexy, “I’m going to suck your cock now, Draco.”

Draco was unable to do anything but make a gratifying choking noise.

It turned out Hermione needed little to no tutoring after all. She paid careful attention to her husband’s reactions and followed his precedent of teasing and naughty talk to great effect. In fact, it took only five minutes of licking and sucking and describing what she was doing for Draco to lose all control.

Suddenly his hands, which had been threaded loosely in her hair to that point, closed on great handfuls, and he began thrusting into her mouth with tortured grunts and groans. An early conversation she’d tried her best to avoid with Molly, Minerva, and Astoria suddenly came to mind, and the mental distraction helped as she tried to time her breathing around the thrusting of such a large object into the back of her mouth.

_ Sweet Circe, _ she thought as she inhaled quickly,  _ this is precisely why Molly said it was better to learn this from the eldest husband!  _ Draco was murmuring her name repeatedly, now, along with a litany of filthy compliments regarding her mouth and hands, and despite her minor discomfort Hermione had never heard such a rewarding sound.  _ He’d better have been serious about grading, because I plan to get an ‘O’. _

At that moment his entire body tensed. “Watch out, sweetheart,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He pushed gently at her head.

Hermione resisted his efforts.  _ Oh, no you don’t!  _ Her metaphorical grade hovered just seconds away, and she was determined to achieve a perfect score. When she felt the odd, salty-bitter taste of ejaculate flood the back of her mouth she began swallowing quickly, eyes closed in concentration. Finally she released him from her mouth, giving a final onceover with her tongue before she looked up.

Draco was looking down at her with an adorable expression of drowsy bliss. He limply gestured for her to come closer, and when she did he slung one arm around her torso. “Hmmmmm,” he hummed into her hair, echoing her own post-orgasmic statement. “That was fantastic; thank you.”

She twisted in his arms so that she could see his face. He looked as though he was drifting off to sleep, so she poked him gently. “That’s a bit nebulous; what’s my actual grade?”

Draco raised one heavy eyelid to look at her incredulously. “You’re serious?” When it became obvious that she was, he sighed, “A perfect ‘O’.” His eye fell shut, his head fell even deeper into the pillow, and his breathing evened out almost right away.

She chewed on her lip for a second and poked him again, this time impishly. As soon as he managed to rouse himself she pressed, “Formative or summative?”

He seemed to realize her mischievous intent at that point, because his mouth formed a lazy smile. “Both. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes, and then we have more  _ studying _ to do.”

Hermione wriggled out of an unconscious Draco’s arms a few minutes later and slipped out of bed, donning his discarded shirt. She made her way to the bathroom, where she found her toothbrush and toiletries laid out exactly as they’d been in Lucius’ suite. She gave a deep sigh of relief and set to scrubbing every inch of her mouth; the aftertaste of her perfect grade was slightly less than Outstanding, in her opinion.

(Page break thingie)

She returned to find her younger husband sprawled on his back in the very center of the mattress, arms thrown up to curl backward around his pillow and legs tangled in roughly nine-tenths of the covers. Draco, it seemed, was  _ not _ an accommodating bedfellow. She paused at the side of the bed, much more interested in admiring his form, though, than in criticizing his preferred sleeping position.

Yesterday she’d observed a slumbering Draco, but in the soft glow of shuttered daylight. Now the moon’s honest light stripped him down to an equation of elegant proportions. He was long bone and subtly curving muscle, the lean beauty of his youth balancing the promise of one day attaining his brother’s imposingly solid form. Hermione let her eyes wander slowly down his bare torso to where the covers rode low across his hips, once again shocked at the idea that this being was her husband.  _ And yet, how natural – how right – it seems now. As if I’ve been moving toward this my entire life. _ Her appreciative gaze deepened as she dwelled on Draco’s character.  _ As if I’ve been moving toward HIM. _ Time slipped by as she stood transfixed in the moonlight, until the covenant within her gave an uneasy roll and Hermione looked at the sleeping wizard more closely.

This time there was no pain potion to suspend him in peaceful stasis, and she became aware that his body twitched in an almost nervous way. His face, too, was far from serene. A small crease furrowed his brow, and he grimaced intermittently as if in pain. The covenant gave another anxious sensation of movement, and Hermione climbed up onto the mattress and crawled closer, leaning to smooth Draco’s forehead.

At her light touch Draco woke with a frenzied start, swinging one arm defensively in a strong, wild gesture. “No!” He cried the word at the same time the back of his hand caught the side of Hermione’s face in a stunning blow, knocking her backward and off the bed.

“Ooof!” The breath was knocked out of her lungs, and it took her longer than a moment to shake off the force of both the hit and the fall. Her eyes ran with tears from the force of his strike, and she held her breath to keep back a noise of pain.  _ I cannot believe I did that, not after traveling all those months with Harry . . . _ Hermione thought back to the many nights she and her brother-figure had tried to wake each other from nightmares, and of the resultant black eyes and bloodied lips earned by such foolish actions. It was such a natural response, though, to comfort such suffering. Rubbing her cheek, she raised herself to her knees. Then she caught sight of Draco.

He sat, bare chest heaving, a look of bewildered terror on his handsome face. His expression morphed into one of horror when their eyes met, and it was clear he realized what had happened. “Hermione.” He breathed her name, moving toward her as quickly as he could with his legs trapped in the sheets. Falling to his elbows at the edge of the high bed, he leaned down and reached toward her uncertainly. He repeated her name softly, looking at her intently in the moonlight.

Hermione took his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly as she tried to joke, “You’re usually there to  _ catch _ me when I fall.” With her free hand she held her cheek, wincing a bit. “That’s quite the backhand you have, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco drew her up onto the mattress and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his long arms around her tightly. His lips brushed against her throbbing cheek. “I  _ struck _ you.” A light tremor was still running through his body. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

“You aren’t responsible for what your body does when you’re asleep,” she argued, leaning away to catch his gaze. When his eyes regarded her despondently, she added, “I have enough experience with bad dreams to know how foolish it was to touch you. I just wasn’t thinking at the moment.” She ran one hand over his shoulder and around to the back of his neck, cupping it tenderly. “Are you all right?”

Draco lit the nearest candelabrum with a murmured spell. He took her face in gentle hands and tipped it toward the light. “Am  _ I _ all right? I’m not the one with the bruising cheek. Can you forgive me, sweetheart?” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he was murmuring again, this time a healing charm judging by the tingling sensation in Hermione’s face.

She placed a hand over his where it rested on the quickly cured skin tissue. “Absolutely not!” Her loving touch belied the harshness of her tone, and she added softly. “There’s nothing to forgive, you idiot.”

Draco’s agonized expression wavered, and a ghost of a smile broke through. “Whatever happened to you calling me ‘silly snake’?”

The feeling of unease was abating from her consciousness now. “You’ve been promoted,” she deadpanned. “And if you’re really lucky, someday maybe you’ll earn the title ‘ass’.”

He breathed an almost soundless laugh and pulled her closer against his torso. “I like the sound of that.”

“Oh,  _ really _ .” Hermione spoke into his neck, letting her lips move against the fragrant skin. With her hands she continued to sooth him as one would a frightened animal, running them over his trembling shoulders and down his arms in soft strokes.

“I meant the ‘someday’ part. I like the idea of spending it with you,” he said quietly. The shaking in his limbs and torso was lessening now. “Please promise you won’t get that close to me again when I’m . . . you know.”

Her skin was finally reacting to the cool night air, and she wrapped Draco’s shirt more tightly around her. Curling more deeply into his lap, she laid her head over his racing heart. “Do you have bad dreams often?”

Draco sighed heavily into her hair. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“ _ Oh _ , no; you don’t get to whack me like that and then go into strong, silent mode!” She poked him for emphasis. “You  _ owe _ me.” At her words there was a new wave of emotion from the covenant, primarily one of caution.

His chuckle rumbled through her body, and when he answered his voice had a distinctly awkward, resigned tone. “Such a Slytherin under that Gryffindor skin. I nap regularly during the day, usually; that way I don’t have to sleep when it’s . . .”

Hermione continued running her hands down his arms.  _ When it’s dark _ , her brain supplied _. _ “That’s why you’re such a night owl.” She craned her neck to look him in the eye. “I have them too, you know.” His look of discomfort morphed into one of concern but he said nothing, so she continued, “It helps to talk about them.”  _ And to have someone to hold you when you wake. _ At that thought she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as tightly as she could.

He returned the gesture. “And I will, Hermione. Tell you about them, that is; just not right now.”

Hermione drew back to look at him again, and the pleading in his eyes somehow gave meaning to the reactions of the family magic.  _ He’s not ready, and besides that it’s our wedding night. Who talks on their wedding night? _ In a considering tone she agreed, “Everything in its right time.”  _ Furthermore _ ,  _ I’ve heard that sex can be very therapeutic.  _ She pressed her lips to his in a tender, passionate kiss. The presence of the covenant faded to the edges of her awareness once more, leaving behind the sensation of spoken words in her mind.  _ ‘Everything in its right time’ _ , it echoed happily. The words seemed to flow over her like a lover’s hands, until she realized the sensation was that of her husband touching her. His fingers trailed along her sides, thumbs brushing over the curves of her breasts as his body reacted to her kiss, and beneath her thigh another part of his anatomy responded as well.

Hermione pulled away to clarify breathlessly, “Take light bondage, for instance.” When Draco’s entire being came to immediate attention she bit back her smile and ran a hand down his torso. “An hour ago wasn’t the right time, but now . . . ” She shifted clumsily to straddle his lap, his shirt falling open so that the bare skin of their torsos met in a gratifying meld of shirt-warmed and air-cooled. “Would you care to tie me up, Mr. Malfoy?” Confidence from his reaction brewing in her like a storm, she leaned in and whispered saucily in his ear, “Would you like to spank me?”

“No.” The word would have been like a bucket of ice water had it not been for the dark tone Draco used in delivering it, nor the way his fingers were curling around her waist under her borrowed shirt.

She dropped her head to his shoulder at the realization that she was more turned on by that tone than anything else at the moment. It had her rubbing against him shamelessly and moaning his name.  _ Merlin above, Ginny was right. I like being dominated.  _ Their mouths met in a deep, hungry kiss as the mood shifted, and all thoughts of talking and therapy fled from her brain.

He continued in that wicked voice that sent desire zinging along every nerve in Hermione’s body, “I  _ care _ to have you like this.” A large hand on her hip urged her upward and she obeyed the prompt blindly. When she was on her knees, her head slightly above his eye level, the hand clamped down, holding her in place, and the other came to rest on her corresponding hip. “I would  _ like _ for you to ride my cock, Princess.” He was looking her in the eye with a confident heat, all his former angst gone in the rush of their combined hormones. “Put your hands on my shoulders and lean forward, please.”

She couldn’t help but smile as Draco’s immaculate manners fought through his controlling mask, but it was wiped off quickly as he slowly but relentlessly pushed her down onto his erect shaft. She gasped at the new sensation of being filled at this angle, and then again as her husband’s mouth closed around one rune-marked nipple. “Draco-o-o!”

When he was fully seated within her, he growled with apparent pleasure and smacked her lightly across the backside. “Move, little witch.” 

The shift to cocky Draco had her on the edge of orgasm within the span of a heartbeat. If her first movement was tentative, her second was less so as she discovered the advantage of this position. By her third, she lost any reservations she might have had in the advance of his hips against hers. Less than a minute later she cried out her release and Draco swallowed the sound with an aggressive kiss.

When she sagged against his larger torso, he pulled her head back by a gentle handful of hair and gave a wolfish smile. “Do you know, I think it’s  _ my _ turn to decide what we’re studying this time. I say we research the premise that witches are capable of multiple orgasms.” And when her mouth dropped open slightly, he tipped it shut with a finger under her chin and swatted her bum once more. “Again.”

It was hard to resist such a logical argument, and another flight of ecstasy later Hermione was a sweating, heaving, highly gratified witch. One look at Draco’s calculating expression, however, and she pleaded, “Enough fun! Time to enjoy the bliss!”

He smirked triumphantly and rolled them over as one. “Two isn’t bad, Mrs. Malfoy.” Now he lay over her, long arms holding him slightly above and large hands bracketing her face. “But I’d like to try for three. What do you say; will you come for me one more time, Princess?”

She hooked her legs over his hips and ran her hands over the muscles of his shoulders. Had anyone ever been able to deny Draco anything? If so, she’d very much like to meet the person and learn that secret art. In an attempt to maintain some semblance of control she countered softly, “Say something filthy to me.”

He closed his eyes tightly and began thrusting in earnest. “With pleasure.” He leaned down and kissed her, the action made sloppy by the movement of his hips. “Do you remember two Mondays ago when Harry and his girls put on that show at lunch?”

Hermione did, and in vivid detail. She looked up at her husband expectantly.  _ Do I ever. I wanted to lick pudding from your face and . . . _ She gave a pleasurable moan as her tired body began thrumming at the pictures running through her mind.  _ And I want to hear you make it even filthier. _

He was barely out of breath from his current exertions, but his voice was rough with adrenalin. “All I could think about was doing that with you.” He winced and stilled within her, face set in a look of grim determination. After several seconds of motionless silence he began moving again. “I wanted to sit you down in front of me on the Slytherin table and suck pudding from your fingers. Push my hands up under your school sweater to tug and pinch your nipples until they were hard and poked into my palms.”

She arched her hips up to meet his, feeling the rhythm of his words and the darkness of his voice establish a throbbing beat deep in her gut. Her channel gave a reflexive pulse around his invading shaft, and Draco gave a low groan. “I felt that, Princess. Do you want to hear more?”

“Don’t you dare stop,” she managed between gritted teeth as she strained to keep up with his unyielding pace.

“I wanted you under the table, too, to see you with your mouth full of my cock. I was so hard walking to the Headmaster’s office with you after that meal, I thought I was going to come every time my pants rubbed against me.” He stilled again, this time only momentarily before he was off and thrusting again. “Then again, I’m always hard when I’m around you.”

Hermione felt the first flutters of pleasure begin in her lower abdomen. “Why- Ooooh! Why do you call me Princess?” Her toes curled in her effort to climb the imaginary cliff she had begun to visualize when she struggled toward orgasm. “So close!”

Draco had dropped low over her so that their perspiring torsos slipped against each other with every push and pull. He hummed in her ear. “You’ve been my Princess for years, sweetheart; such a pure, pretty witch.” His hands slid under her shoulders, locking her in place as his movements became frenzied. “Untouchable in every way; ours alone to worship and corrupt. Oh, the things I want to  _ do _ to you, Hermione.”

Those words were enough to send Hermione up the last few feet of her metaphorical cliff and then falling off its edge just as Draco’s face twisted in a grimace. He gave one last thrust and then dropped his head heavily to the bed, pinning her momentarily with his weight.

Hermione welcomed the sensation until she could no longer breathe, at which point she slapped him several times on one shoulder. “Up, big boy. Up!” She wheezed.

Draco lifted himself with a smug look, sliding out of her and plopping down at her side. “Big boy?”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes, fighting the smile that wanted desperately to break forth.  _ That was amazing. I just had amazing sex with Draco. Who happens to be my husband. _ “I thought we’d established this already; you have an enormous head.”

He laughed happily. “Everything about me is enormous; admit it.”

“I’ll tell you what’s enormous,” she said with a straight face. “Your  _ ego _ is enormous.” Draco just grinned and folded his arms under his head, effectively framing his handsome face with the strong muscles of his upper arms.

Hermione rolled onto her side and was instantly aware that her body no longer smelled like fragrant bath oil. In fact, she  _ reeked _ of sweat and sex. “Mother of all magic, I need a shower. Ugh! I stink!” She tugged on her husband’s arm. “Well, come on – there’s more of you; that means you smell even worse!”

Draco allowed himself to be tugged to the bathroom, the same irritating smirk stretching across his mouth and twinkling in his eyes. “That’s because I’m  _ enormous _ .”

She dropped her hold and huffed, walking ahead of him so he couldn’t see her corresponding expression. “Oh, just knock it off, you enormous idiot. We’re going to need to change the sheets.”

At the door to the shower stall he pressed against her as he adjusted a complicated set of dials and levers, murmuring into her hair, “Well?’ Behind her, the water began to run as Draco continued fussing with the controls.

Hermione looked up at him with a furrowed brow, an involuntary smile spreading across her face at the sight of her younger husband. From the sated expression on his face to the relaxed way he now stood, every part of him seemed to shout he’d been thoroughly shagged. “Well what?”

He lifted an eyebrow, uncertainty flitting over his features before it was replaced with a charming smile. “I’m waiting for my performance to be graded.” Steam curled around their feet invitingly now.

Hermione’s heart filled with a fierce, wild love for this wizard in front of her. He was equal parts cocky and sensitive, the two disparate halves of his personality seeking control in whiplash succession; and yet at times they merged into the quietly confident boy (here she corrected herself mid-thought)  _ man _ in front of her. And she  _ liked _ this version of him; actually, she liked Draco in every one of his variations.  _ Not that he needs me to spell that out for him; gorgeous, enormous-headed EBC that he is . . . _ She smiled innocently and took a backward step into the shower stall. “E.”

He pulled back slightly, shock and disbelief coloring his features. “ _ E _ ?”

She nodded, biting back a grin. “Of course.  _ E  _ for  _ Enormous _ .” She paused and stepped back again, closing her eyes as the hot water poured over her head and body. Wiping her hair and the excess water from her face she peeked at him mischievously through her fingers. When he continued to stand there, a silly grin plastered across his face, she reached out and grabbed his hand, jerking him under the shower head. “Don’t gloat, or I’ll change it to a  _ T _ for troll.”

Their first shower together was a relatively chaste event, given their shared bubble of post-climactic bliss. The large stall had a bench large enough for the two of them, and for twenty minutes they sat side by side under the hot water, content just to brush against each other as they washed away the evidence of their lovemaking. Afterward, when they’d toweled dry and Draco had pulled one of his old Quidditch jerseys over her unsuspecting head, they collapsed in a tangle of limbs on his couch. He dragged a hand through her wet hair, stopping apologetically when it became tangled in the knotted curls. “I may need help,” he admitted, trying to extricate his fingers gently. Just then his stomach gave a menacing growl, and he clutched his abdomen with his free hand.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him dumbly, caught between the disparity of his refined physique and the noise it emitted. “That sounds positively  _ dangerous _ .” She propped her head up so that she could see him properly while she freed his ensnared fingers.

Draco, who lay beside her wearing only a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, nodded glumly. “Suddenly I’m starving. My body is quite possibly devouring itself at this moment.”

Hermione looked between him and the nearest timepiece helplessly for a moment. “Draco, we ate dinner less than three hours ago!”

“We ate  _ date food,  _ and I was reading aloud at the time,” he argued politely. “Besides, I usually eat a second dinner.” At her disbelieving expression he added with a twinkle in his eye, “And exercise increases the metabolism, you know.”

“Oh, Draco,” she sighed. Hermione unwound one leg from his and gave him a loving kick in the shin. “You’re awfully whiny, you know,” she said with a grin. “But perhaps we should feed that monster, just to be on the safe side.”

He beamed down at her and reached toward her hair again, stopping only when she raised a hand in warning. “Please dry your hair, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips quirked impishly. “I want to be able to touch it without fear of entrapment.”

Hermione stood from the couch using Draco’s bare chest as leverage. Heading toward his bathroom yet again, she called back over her shoulder, “Don’t forget, Mr. Malfoy:  _ clean sheets _ .”

She found herself smiling madly as she quickly glopped a handful of Sleakeazy’s through her hair and then wand-dried it.  _ Draco’s a lot of fun to tease, and he’s not bad at it himself. He’s such a superior wizard.  _ She returned to find the younger object of her affections sprawled across his bed, which had obviously been made with fresh linens. Something about the scene suggested the intervention of house elves, and the young Wife beckoned him to her with a crooked finger. She brushed a crumb from his chin. “Trinket brought you biscuits when she made the bed.”

He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Less than a dozen; I saved some for you, but you took so long.”

Hermione looked at the table clock. “Draco, I was only gone ten minutes!” At his guilty expression she quickly amended, “Not that I needed biscuits. Did they fill you up?”

“Not in the slightest,” he admitted, adding hopefully, “I don’t suppose you’d like to sneak down to the kitchens with me.” He stretched, the muscles of his abdomen rippling hypnotically in the moonlight.

It took Hermione a few seconds to process what he’d said, so distracted was she by the movements of his body’s well-defined muscle groups. Finally managed, “Errrr . . .”

Not only did he puff up slightly at her apparent admiration, he seemed to interpret this as victory on his part, because he clapped his hands together once triumphantly and proceeded to throw her over his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Oof! Let go of me, you fiend!” She kicked against his undignified hold, giggling all the while, and when he began striding towards the wall with the fireplace she amended, “I take that back; you’re a  _ caveman _ !” She slapped his toned, pajama-clad buttocks. For one brief moment she was enveloped in the memory of a conversation she’d had with Minerva regarding the possibilities of being hauled off in just such a way.  _ Circe help me, but I was one repressed, uptight witch.  _ Then a firm slap across her own arse caused her to return to the present. She gave a girlish squeal and squirmed in her husband’s tight grip.

Draco paused in front of the bookshelves to the left of the fireplace, causing Hermione to twist her head curiously in that direction. “I thought we were going to the kitchen.”

“We are.” He set her gently on her feet and watched her face hopefully as he asked, “Lucius hasn’t already shown you the passageways?” At her shake of the head he looked positively elated. “Well, then, Mrs. Malfoy, allow me to be your first.” He raised his right palm to a spot on the bookshelf that seemed to shimmer slightly. “Did you see that? There’s one in every room, and they’re only accessible by members of the family.” He dropped his hand and took up hers, putting it in the same spot. “You have only to think of the need to leave this room, and where you wish to go in the manor. Are you ready?”

Hermione had no sooner nodded and begun thinking about his explanation than she was pulled through the bookshelf as if into a vacuum. She hung in cool, dark space for only a second before she realized that  _ this _ was the passageway.  _ Right. And now I want to go to the kitchens. _ With a loud, forceful  _ whoosh _ she was expelled from the passageway into a scullery, the enormous main kitchen just visible through a nearby doorway. She stepped in that direction just as Draco entered the small space behind her with a sound like rushing wind. He grinned and enveloped her smaller hand in his. “Excellent, isn’t it! I’ll never forget the first time Lucius allowed me to do that by myself.” He pulled her toward the doorway, pausing with his finger on his lips before peeking surreptitiously around the corner. At her expression of bemusement Draco explained in a conspiratory tone, “It isn’t exactly the best time to raid the icebox. Come on, the coast is clear.”

He walked into the kitchen, still pulling Hermione along with him. She tugged against his hold. “Hang on; I have questions!”

The room was easily as big as the great hall. It was lit by a roaring fire in the gargantuan hearth, torches ensconced along the walls, and several utilitarian chandeliers; the effect was both warm and bright. A long workspace ran down the center of the kitchen, and at the end nearest them sat three stacked plates.

Draco picked up the top plate and looked down at her with a smirk. “Of course you do, little witch.” His attention was drawn to the massive icebox standing along the wall in front of them. “Ask away, only please keep your voice down.” He threw open one of its doors and began dumping out the contents of various bowls and containers onto the plate in his hand.

Hermione’s train of thought had been headed toward the family passageway, and she’d already composed two dozen very distinct questions regarding its creation and use. At his short speech, however, her brain jumped the tracks and changed course completely. “Why do we need to be quiet?”

He hesitated, hand on the icebox door handle, his expression tinged with what could only be fear of being caught, and whispered, “We don’t want to draw attention ourselves.” Looking back into the icebox and then at his plate he seemed satisfied with his work. He shut the door and turned, setting his loaded plate on the workspace. “This is a  _ private  _ dinner party. Butterbeer or pumpkin juice?”

“Errrr . . . butterbeer, please.” Hermione plucked a strawberry from the plate and popped it in her mouth, watching as Draco opened another door in the icebox and extracted two bottles of the beverage. Swallowing the mouthful of cold fruit she prodded, “Whose attention are we avoiding, exactly?”

Draco let the bottlenecks hang from between the fingers of one large hand and looked around the kitchen cautiously. “We should really go.” He reached toward the plate.

Just then there was a noise, and Draco panicked spectacularly. He snatched Hermione off her feet with one arm around her waist and bolted back to the scullery. From the doorway they watched several shadows fall across one wall before the physical bodies of the interlopers appeared at the far entrance.

It was Lucius, and he was accompanied by Castor, Pollux, and a small ball of orange fuzz, which he held in one large hand against his bare chest. He was clad, like Draco, in just a pair of pajama bottoms,  and one of his shoulders bore a familiar bite-shaped bruise.  Hermione gave a small exhale of relief, but Draco growled quietly into the top of her head. She twisted her neck to look up at him, whispering, “What’s wrong?”

He glowered out at the sight of his brother, who was now crossing the room toward the icebox in all his bare-chested, broad-shouldered glory. “I let my stomach rule me, and now I’m going to pay for it.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” She kept her voice as low as his, standing on her tiptoes to lessen the distance between her lips and his ear.

Draco leaned down, wrapping his arms around her possessively. “We’ve left my room and therefore forfeited our right to be left alone. He may join us if he chooses and you so allow.” After a moment’s hesistation he added with obvious reluctance, “Or you may leave with him.”

As her mind scrambled to make sense of the information, Hermione curled a hand around her younger husband’s neck in a comforting gesture. “We can step back through the passageway right now if you like.” She shivered as the cold Butterbeer bottles in his hand pressed against her back.

“It’s too late,” Draco sighed. In the kitchen, Lucius had discovered the plate of food on the workspace and was now looking around with an expression of smug amusement on his face. “He knows we’re here.”

She tugged him down so that his face was closer to her own level. “Tell me what you want.”

“On the one hand,” he began, as if working through his options.

He was interrupted by his brother, who called to them in his silky voice. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Hermione looked once more at her younger husband and mentally sought out the covenant’s opinion. It was surprisingly silent.  _ I’m going to interpret that to mean there’s no wrong choice _ . “I won’t leave you, Draco, but I  _ will _ follow the rules. If only you’d  _ explained _ them to me in the first place!”

He nodded morosely. “I really am a moron.”

She pulled him down for a brief, sweet kiss. “Yes,” she agreed happily, “But you’re  _ my _ moron. Let’s go, before Lucius eats all the food on that plate.”

Lucius regarded them with his usual arrogant mask as they walked back into the kitchen, but his mouth twitched when Draco all but snarled at him. He bowed his head in her direction. “Good evening, my lovely.”

“Good evening, Lucius.” Hermione tried not to notice the shape of his chest, nor the way his pajama bottoms hung so low across his hips. She definitely didn’t lick her lips and look away with a flustered blush.

The elder Malfoy wizard set the little Kneazle down on the counter and held out the heavily laden plate to his younger brother. “Come now, Draco; don’t be petulant. I have no intention of wooing our prize away from you tonight.” He took the Butterbeers from his brother and set them on the counter.

Draco took the plate but set it down again beside the bottles. He eyed his brother warily. “You don’t?”

Meanwhile Hermione sprang up to sit on the workspace a few feet away from her two wizards, watching their interaction curiously. She smoothed her makeshift nightdress down over her knees and called softly to the orange puff of fur. The Kneazle scampered across the counter to her, crawling up onto her lap without hesitation. Regarding her with its pale orange eyes, it rolled onto its back and commenced a tiny purr. Hermione cooed at the little noise and scratched its stomach with gentle fingers, never taking her eyes from the fine forms of her husbands. A random mental image of the House bed crossed her mind, and she shook it away in surprise.  _ Stop it _ , she bid the covenant.  _ I won’t hurt Draco’s feelings.  _ Another image popped up, this one of Draco in the throes of ecstasy in  _ that _ room, on  _ that _ bed.  _ Unless that’s what he truly wants . . . _ she shivered.

Lucius shook his head and lightly scratched the trail of dark blond hair running down his lower abdomen. “I simply came down here to feed Leo.”

Her hand paused mid-scratch, her eyes glued to his action, until her brain processed his words. “Who is ‘ _ Leo _ ’?” She narrowed her eyes at him in warning.

Her elder husband gestured gracefully at the creature in her lap, seemingly unaware of her change in mood. 

Hermione’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “When did  _ you _ name  _ my _ Kneazle?” It was a fitting name, given that it was both a constellation and feline in meaning, but that wasn’t the point. Her hands left the creature in her lap and rose to her hips of their own accord.

Lucius raised an eyebrow of his own. “He needed to be called something; the hounds helped me. The name suits him, don’t you agree?” Castor and Pollux looked up at him with cocked heads.

She growled at her elder husband. Beside him Draco dropped a buttered roll to his plate and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not set in stone; the name can be cha-”

Hermione flung up a cautionary finger to her younger, peaceable husband as her eyelid twitched and a pulse began pounding in her temple. “Oh, no you don’t; you don’t get to blame this on the poor hounds!” Here the dogs, who had been standing by Lucius to this point, moved to her and looked between the humans with amused expressions on their intelligent faces. “You named somebody else’s Kneazle.  _ My _ Kneazle! You can’t  _ do _ that!” She set down the object of their argument gently, lest she hurt him unintentionally.

He had the nerve to smirk. “I think you’ll find I can, and  _ did _ .”

“Sweetheart,” Draco entreated, “He’s winding you up. Of course you can name your own pet.”

His wise words fell on deaf ears. Hermione slid from her perch on the workspace and instantly regretted the action as it reduced her stature by several key inches. “You most certainly did  _ not _ !” She growled at Lucius. “He . . .” She turned and looked at the adorable little thing. “He doesn’t even  _ look _ like a  _ Leo _ !” He actually did, unfortunately, but this was about principle. And perhaps sexual tension.  _ I cannot believe I find him attractive right now! Sweet Circe, help a witch out! _ “ _ I _ will name him, as is my  _ right _ as his  _ owner _ !” She’d advanced on Lucius and was now emphasizing her speech with pokes at his hard solar plexus.  _ Mother of magic, it’s like jabbing my finger into a rock. Ouch! Damnit! _

Draco had retreated with his heavy plate and a heavier sigh to a table by the fireplace, where he turned his back to them and proceeded to eat his midnight meal.

Her posturing only seemed to amuse Lucius further. “What other name could possibly be as fitting, sweetling?” He reached out and caught her hand, rubbing her weaponized index finger “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Whatever name I choose!” It occurred to her that Draco had been right and Lucius was, perhaps, winding her up. He was, after all, as fond of teasing as she herself was. The logical thought was almost immediately quashed by the growing tension within her. In a quiet voice which belied the extent of her anger she growled, “So help me, if I want to, I can name him  _ R- _ ”

The kitchen fell silent, and Hermione realized what she’d almost said in anger. Lucius’ arrogant mask was back in place, all humor wiped from his features. Draco had swiveled in his chair, a shocked, hurt expression on his face. She thought fast and began backpedaling even faster. “ _ Rigel _ . And  _ that’s _ his name.” She turned to the Kneazle, who had followed her along the workspace to sit at her elbow, and picked him up. “Because he  _ looks _ like a  _ Rigel _ . Don’t you, my sweet baby?” She focused her attention fully on the small creature for the moment in the hope that her barely avoided debacle would blow over.

When she chanced a casual look up, her wizards were trading glances. Draco appeared to be amused now, and Lucius was the one sporting the scowl. Her younger husband stood from the table after pressing his napkin to his lips, obviously done with his meal, and returned to the others.

Draco addressed Hermione first. “ _ Rigel _ is a perfect name for a Kneazle,” he offered with a smirk. “Much more fitting than  _ Leo _ any day. After all, who  _ wouldn’t _ name a feline creature after the the star comprising Orion’s left foot?”

She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the orange ball of fuzz, holding it to her chest and scratching its stomach.

He punched Lucius lightly in the shoulder. “Stop being jealous of her familiar, old man. I’m sure she’ll rub your tummy if you ask nicely.”

Lucius only glared at him.

Draco shook his head disapprovingly. “You will apologize to each other.  _ Now _ .” They both turned to him incredulously, and Hermione took the opportunity to study her younger husband. Something was different about him, some subtle shift had occurred since the last time she and Lucius had . . . whatever it was they’d just done. There was a sexy confidence to the younger Malfoy wizard that went beyond the determined set of his shoulders; it was in his eyes, his voice, and the tilt of his head.

Draco wasn’t done. He walked the few steps to Hermione’s side and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “Naughty girls don’t get to come, so be a  _ good _ girl and do as you’re told, princess.” He took the Kneazle from her and set it back down on the counter, running his hand from the top of her jersey-covered torso all the way down to the split of her legs.

If she had been wearing knickers they would have soaked through at his commanding implied offer. As it was, she rubbed her slender legs together in an attempt to catch the arousal now running down her thigh. She nodded, suddenly breathless, and obeyed instantly. “I’m sorry for letting my temper get the best of me, Lucius.” She eyed Draco expectantly.

He had already turned to his brother. “Your turn.” He leaned in and said something quietly which made Lucius’ eyes widen momentarily. When Draco pulled back, Lucius swallowed audibly. He stepped toward Hermione and took the hand she automatically raised to him. Bowing over it, he pressed his lips to the back. “Forgive me, pet. I went too far.”

“Now,” said Draco in a businesslike tone, “I’m going down to the dungeons to find a particular bottle of champagne. When I return I expect to find you both ready to join me in the House bed.” And with that he sauntered out of the kitchen.

For a moment they could only watch his retreating form. When he was gone, the elder Malfoy looked down at Hermione. “When I said ‘go make a man of him’, should I have specified what kind, pet?”

Lucius’ words regarding his brother came back to her, and suddenly she understood the change in Draco.  _ I did that - I made him a man.  _ She licked her lips in an anticipatory manner. “I like it.”


	76. Sunday – early hours of the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day from the Great North, mes amis! I send warm wishes for your health and contentment from the land of frozen tundra. We are having what should be a very cozy weekend hiding inside from the subzero temps . . . alas Mr Glitter, that glorious bastard, has decided to begin a home renovation project involving ripping up flooring (which goes quite quickly) and laying down something new and exciting (which does NOT go quickly). This does not please me, Dear Readers. Also, my hand is still in a Very Itchy Splint, which is driving me spare.  
> On a positively lovely note, the Glitter Litter came home from uni for a few days! I have been enjoying stuffing them full of good food and laundering their necessaries. Glitterazza has been in canine ecstasy -- her littermates are here and sneaking her all kinds of forbidden treats.  
> A few notes:  
> Wanderloner: never apologize for enjoying a fanfic so much that you send good-natured pokes to the authoress! Mwah!  
> 469vfr: I tripped on a ray of light as I walked through the school library. I once tripped over a shadow. It's a whole thing.  
> theladynimue, sabmcd94, and LadyGreytheThird: thank you so much for the well wishes!  
> cochran4444: So glad to hear BW delivered yet again :)  
> Summer: what kind words! Thank you so very much for that encouragement!
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of you for the warm welcome you have given for BW's move to this site. There isn't another fanfic site on the www with such an overall positive membership. Your enthusiasm and encouragement are humbling -- and make me want to write more things :). Thank you.

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Sunday – early hours of the morning

  
  


For a moment Hermione stood savoring the shift in her younger husband’s demeanor, her lips curled into a small smile. Draco’s unexpected burst of dark authority was in such contrast to the blushing, earnest wizard to whom she’d first engaged herself two weeks ago! She found it both arousing and slightly comical; not that she’d ever admit that last part out loud, since it would undoubtedly crush the confidence right out of him. At least temporarily.

One day soon Draco would permanently cast off that cloak of boyish uncertainty and trade it for his birthright as a Malfoy wizard: the robes of smug self assurance which already fit his older brother so well. Until then, the curly-haired Wife vowed, she would protect his sensitive soul; nurturing it with every bit of love and respect she possessed.  _ But Merlin help him, because when that day comes I will knock him down a peg or two. Regularly. _

Her smile turned to a smirk at that thought, and her clever brain replayed his last words. Her smirk faltered slightly.  _ House bed. _ She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.  _ House bed. _ Her helpful imagination began churning out images of this new dominant Draco and an even  _ more  _ dominant Lucius sprawled across that enormous bed, beckoning imperiously to her. Again she experienced a dichotomy of emotion, this one comprised of both desire and nerves.

_ I don’t know that I’m ready for this. _ _ Was _ there a way to prepare for such an experience? And what exactly would happen there? Hermione had been around Harry and his girls enough to be aware of the myriad possibilities for intimacy between a man and two women, but she wasn’t sure how that translated to her own situation.  _ I should have read more of Yolande’s diary _ , she thought wryly.  _ Then I would have known what to expect. _ A gauntlet had been thrown down and her competetive nature wanted to rise to the challenge.  _ I just don’t want to think of this particular event that way.  _

She wished she could just turn off her brain for a few moments. Had they suddenly wound up in the House bed in the heat of passion, she wouldn’t have had any time to think about it! Now, though . . . this had become a thing of premeditation and planning, and Draco’s imperious order was having exactly the opposite effect on her.  _ He’s bringing champagne, for Circe’s sake _ !  _ House b- _ She inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the anxiety that was now welling within her.

The Malfoy hounds were lying on the kitchen floor by Lucius’ feet. Now one lifted its great head from its paws and regarded her with an intelligent gaze, head cocked to one side. It heaved itself to stand and exited the kitchen quietly, casting one backward glance at her as it left. The other dog looked from Hermione to Lucius and then back to her expectantly.

_ I think he means I should talk to Lucius. _ She nodded her comprehension to the enormous dog. _ And I cannot believe I now casually communicate with animals.  _ She turned toward the wizard standing at the kitchen’s long center workspace again. He was leaning down, strong forearms resting on the counter as he talked in a soft tone to the little Kneazle.  _ Rigel _ , she thought with a wry smile. _ Because Merlin forbid I admitted I preferred ‘Leo’ right away. _ _ I am such an idiot. _ She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the way her new familiar responded to the attention.

The little puff of orange fur sat directly under Lucius’ face, staring up at him with unblinking orange eyes. Its head was tipped to the side as if listening intently, its tiny paw resting on Lucius’ outstretched forefinger, and at one point it mewled back loudly.

It occurred to the curly-haired Wife that Lucius was as good with animals as he was plants, and that notion had the covenant perking up its metaphorical ears at the edges of her awareness. In her mind’s eye the Kneazle morphed into the same little girl with curly blond hair she’d envisioned previously, this time sitting on the counter of the kitchens and listening raptly to the elder Malfoy wizard while holding his hand. The mental image was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a feeling of yearning that was at least half her own.

Hermione watched the scene before her with renewed interest, chewing her lip thoughtfully.  _ He’d look good holding a baby.  _ She was surprised by the emotion that accompanied the idea.  _ Our baby. _ _ In time _ , she added firmly, half to the covenant and half to herself.  _ There’s a lot I want to do before I’m too big and too tired to do it. And babies change everything. _ The covenant’s amusement felt like the gentle flick of a tail against her consciousness.  _ Well, I’m glad you think that’s funny. You do realize I intend to continue using contraception charms, don’t you? _ And she did; something told her, however, that the covenant was far more powerful than a minor spell. The first Malfoy baby would come when the time was right. She huffed, unconsciously drawing Lucius’ attention. 

“What is it, pet?” He bid her come closer with a crook of one long finger.

Hermione went to him at once, walking right into his broad, warm chest. She took a hit of his inherent fragrance and hummed contentedly, eyes drawn upward to the bite-shaped bruise on his shoulder. “You’re very good with my kitty,” she murmured, hiding her smile as she waited for him to accept her offered double entendre.

His chuckle resonated through her body. “I have always had an affinity for living things, but your pussy is by far my favorite.”

“ _ Lucius! _ ” she snorted indelicately, strangely delighted with the exchange. She lifted a finger and traced the mark.  _ My mark. _ _ I did that. And Lucius likes it. _ The thought made her shiver.

Lucius stroked a hand downward over her lower abdomen, laughing again when she batted his hand away. He returned his attention to the Kneazle. “He’s a very intelligent kit. What did you say his name was?” He glanced over at her with a smirk on his handsome face.

Just then there was an energetic  _ crack  _ of Apparition and Trinket appeared, a small jingling cat toy in her hand. “Good evening, Master and Mistress! Look, Trinket has made a toy for little Leo!” She shook the thing, catching the Kneazle’s attention. “The elves would like a turn watching him, if you please.”

Lucius nodded, avoiding Hermione’s narrowed gaze, and set the orange puffball on the floor. ‘Leo’ scampered to the housekeeper, and the two Disapparated from the kitchen.

Hermione rounded on her elder husband, hands on hips. “You named my Kneazle, Lucius.” When his lips twitched she was tempted to swallow the admission on the tip of her tongue. Then honesty – the blight of Gryffindor – compelled her to grind out, “And as much as it pains me to say it, I like the name you chose.”

She’d expected her painful admission to set off a series of triumphant remarks, and so she was surprised to see the look of genuine remorse on her husband’s face. “It was never my intention to take something of value from you, pet.”

Hermione regarded him with a decent amount of irritation.  _ Curse Slytherins and their unpredictable reactions. _ She jumped ahead in the conversation several moves, weighed the outcome of a few different strategies, and decided to beat him at his own game. “It  _ was _ valuable. Naming something makes it  _ yours _ , Lucius.”

His expression deepened to one of contrition. “Forgive me, Hermione.”

He had taken her bait almost too readily, and she reeled him in carefully. “It’s only fair you give me something in return.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “Something of a similar nature.” She lifted the hem of her makeshift nightdress and wound in around her hand in a pretense of bashful nerves. Surely Godric Gryffindor was rolling in his grave, and Salazar Slytherin was belatedly reconsidering his stance on Muggleborns! 

“Of course, my heart. Name your desire and it shall be yours.” Lucius reached for her hands and unwound the fabric from them, drawing her into his arms.

Hermione took a deep breath, hiding her face against his chest.  _ I really would have looked good in silver and green robes _ , she thought with a small amount of maroon and gold guilt. Still, she trained an innocent gaze up at him and said, “Our firstborn son will be named Rigel instead.”

The elder Malfoy wizard’s mouth parted in shock and dismay. “ _ Rigel _ ?”

Hermione bit back the smirk that threatened to take over her face.  _ That was too much fun!  _ The right to name a firstborn son, she guessed, was an honor heavy with responsibility and not something to be given away lightly. She watched as Lucius tried to process the fact that he was now bound by honor to name the first son of Malfoy House after the left foot of a hunter. 

Finally he nodded slowly. “I gave my word, and it shall be so.” He ran a hand over her hair, the action heavy with regret.

The initial triumph she’d felt at her successful coup fell a bit flat. Either she was more suited to Gryffindor than her ego had previously thought, or she  _ really _ didn’t like the name ‘Rigel’.  _ Oh, bother.  _ She looked up at her elder husband as she chewed on her lip in a contemplative manner. “Actually, I’d like to change the terms of our agreement.” When a subtle wave of hope washed over his aristocratic features, she allowed her smile to break through. “I reserve the right to choose our first son’s name from a list the three of us make together. Oh, wipe that superior look off your face!”

Lucius did indeed look self-satisfied. His demeanor had shifted from one of humble acceptance to the complete opposite, and now he smirked down at her in a maddening way. “Oh, well played, kitten.” He lowered his gaze to the necklace that proclaimed her Wife of his House, lifting a finger to trace its edges. “Never have I had so much fun being bested at my own game.”

His words sent a thrill along her nerves as she realized once again the power she had over him.  _ And I do like power, it seems.  _ “Really, Lucius! Now you just look arrogant.” 

The smirk broadened until his eyes were twinkling as well. “It has been said the Malfoy features are particularly suited to that expression.”

  
  


Their game had restored a sense of control to Hermione; that, and the calming fragrance of her war stake, which assailed her nostrils with every breath whenever she was this close to one of her wizards. She sighed and looked up at Lucius for a few silent moments. “I don’t know if I’m quite ready for this,” she admitted in a small, firm voice. “I’ve been given too much forewarning, and now my brain won’t shut off.”

Lucius gazed down at her with a piercing thoroughness that softened quickly. “This should have been a decision made by the three of us. However . . .” The corner of his mouth quirked in an expression of fond amusement and he looked toward the kitchen doors through which Draco had exited. “The passage into manhood is rife with growing pains, and I would spare my brother’s tender soul whenever possible. Even so, I do not foresee the need to worry just yet.”

She was comforted yet unsurprised that her elder husband felt the same way about protecting Draco’s budding confidence. If nothing else, Lucius understood her quandary. His words sparked hope within her, and she asked, “What do you mean?” 

He twinkled at her, handsome brow drawn in thought. “Knowing Draco, he is even now regretting his impulsive words and seeking a way out of them.”

That  _ did _ sound like her younger husband.  _ He’s probably over-thinking it as much as I am. _ Hermione wrapped her arms around Lucius’ middle and went up on tiptoe to kiss his chin, gladly trading that goal for his mouth when he leaned down to her level. The pleasurable push-pull of his lips against hers helped calm her frenzied thoughts.

Their kiss was playful and full of contentment, broken only by the sound of the kitchen door opening. Hermione broke away from her elder husband to see Draco standing in the doorway, champagne bottle in hand and hound at his side, a look of uncertainty on his handsome face.  _ He’s trying not to assume we’re going to exclude him _ , she thought with a pang. She left Lucius’ arms and crossed the room to the younger Malfoy wizard, twining her arms round his neck and pulling him down for a kiss of his own.

When they pulled apart, Draco treated her to an almost-smile. “Hello.”

“Hi yourself.” Hermione regarded him carefully even as she gave him a dazzling smile. It was obvious he felt the shift in mood and was unsure how to proceed. She herself wasn’t certain what to say or do at this point; should she admit her nerves and suggest they do something else? Would that bruise his ego? Such dancing around a subject would never happen between two Gryffindors!

There was an awkward silence until Draco indicated the dusty bottle cradled in one of his arms. “You’re in for a treat; I chose the summer of ‘twenty-eight. Vinted and bottled at the family seat in Aude.”

It seemed that small talk was in order, at least for the moment. “Was that a very good year?” She looked between the bottle and her younger husband helplessly, her heart rate picking up in speed and her mind fading to an unhelpful blank state.  _ Think of something to say. Think of something to say. _

Draco nodded, and Hermione mirrored the action frantically. They probably would have stood there all night, heads bobbing like maniacs, had not Lucius rescued them both. He came up to them and in his lazy, silky drawl murmured, “Such a fine bottle should be savored. Shall we open it in my study?” He looked between them with thinly veiled amusement.

“Good idea, Lu.” The younger Malfoy turned to Hermione and held out his hand tentatively. “Sweetheart?”

The curly-haired Wife took Draco’s hand at the same time she accepted Lucius’ proffered arm, and the three exited the kitchen in their usual tangle of upper limbs. 

As they left, two pairs of doggy eyes locked with expressions that could only be described as entertained. The two enormous hounds moved closer to the roaring kitchen hearth, throwing themselves down to sprawl side by side with heavy canine sighs of bliss.

Meanwhile, Hermione and her husbands had traversed the ground floor to Lucius’ study and made themselves comfortable within. Hermione plopped down unceremoniously on the couch nearest the cozy fire, Lucius sank gracefully into the opposing wingback chair, and Draco went to the elaborate sideboard to uncork the bottle. He returned and settled beside Hermione, handing her and Lucius each a delicate flute of effervescent, pale gold champagne. 

“Mmmmmm,” Hermione moaned around her first sip. “Merciful Merlin, but this is  _ divine _ !” Another small mouthful caused her to turn her head toward her younger husband. “This is same stuff you served at the Slytherin party.”

“You served the ’twenty-eight to a gathering of students?” Lucius raised one aristocratic brow at his brother. “That seems rather wasteful.”

Draco smiled over his flute, his expression much more confident than it had been a few minutes ago. “No, I served the ’twenty-eight to  _ Hermione _ . I kept one bottle at school in the hope she’d share it with me someday.”

There it was again, that word ‘ _ hope _ ’. From the first time Draco had explained the life of celibacy Pureblood wizards led in the  _ hope _ of finding their bespoken one that word had sprung up in more conversations than she could count. Surely her young husband was the very embodiment of that virtue, he who’d kept a bottle of the finest champagne at school in the  _ hope _ they would drink it together. She smiled tremulously at him, an unexpected film of happy tears filtering her vision. “Oh, Draco,” she breathed.

He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I hope to share everything with you from now on.”

Hermione shivered at his gentle touch. She murmured his name again and sought out his mouth for a short kiss laced with the same sentiment. 

Draco pulled away slowly. “I was rash and presumptuous earlier, and I deeply regret that fact.” His voice was pitched low, meant only for her. “According to the laws of a Pureblood marriage, once we left my room my time alone with you was forfeited,” he went on. “I know Lucius would have bowed out graciously had I asked, but I would never expect him to bend the rules to make up for my own stupidity. My only thought was of how much I wanted you in that moment, and of how that could be achieved easiest.”

“That’s why you wanted to go to the House bed,” she whispered in his ear. His frank admission sent warmth and shivers through her body.

He nodded against her cheek. “As soon as I’d gone and the lust cleared from my head somewhat, I realized it wasn’t my decision to make alone. Can you forgive me?”

Hermione set down her half-empty glass and brought her hands up around Draco’s neck. She smiled and tugged at his hair. “I really don’t think there’s anything to forgive, you idiot. Now kiss me again, and make it a nice long one.”

He complied with a groan, applying soft hungry lips and warm, wet tongue to her mouth. It was a kiss as reverent as it was sinful, and when at last it ended they were both breathless. Hermione picked up her flute and took several thirsty swallows, licking the sweet taste from her lips. Draco watched the action with heavy-lidded eyes and a slightly dark expression. “Easy, little witch. This stuff goes straight to the head.” He took the glass from her and set it down. “That’s enough for you tonight.”

There it was again; that lightning shift in Draco’s bearing. One moment his posture and manner were colored by hesitation and insecurity, and the very next he was smoldering at her while making decisions that should really be hers. It could have been the champagne, but it was more likely confident Draco that made Hermione’s eyes cross the teensiest bit and her mouth fall open.

He noticed. His mouth curled in a smug smirk and he addressed the elder Malfoy wizard. “Have you noticed our feisty witch secretly enjoys being bossed about, Lu?”

Lucius returned the look and then glanced at Hermione with appraising eyes. “Indeed. She is a delightful study in contradictions.” He leaned his head back, holding her in his gaze, and beckoned imperiously. “Come, pretty kitten.”

Her eyes wandered over his handsome face and down his bare torso. The firelight added a golden glow to his otherwise pale skin, casting warmth and highlighting each firm swell of muscle. She looked back up at him and smiled slowly, nibbling her lower lip in the process.  _ Yes, please. _ Hermione went to him gladly, curling up in his lap as if to reinforce the aptness of his pet-name. She leaned her head against his hearth-warmed chest. “Mmmmmmm.”

He wrapped one large hand around the outer curve of her thigh, securing her in place, and wove his other through her hair. With his fistful of curls he tipped her head back gently but firmly until her eyes met his. “Do you like to be dominated, pet?” His thumb stroked over the skin of her leg in a familiar pattern.  _ Rub, rub, rub. _

_ I like your hands and I like our games, _ she thought with a smile. The champagne was definitely affecting her in the nicest of ways, slightly heightening her senses and taking the edge off any inhibitions she may still have. “It depends on what I’m told to do,” she teased.

“How very true. You willfully disobey nearly every command or request I make regarding your safety.” Here he grinned wolfishly. “Yet when I order you to lie across my lap for a spanking, you do so with great alacrity.” When she squirmed in his arms and gave a small mewl of desire, Lucius looked away from her to Draco. “Shall we ‘boss her about’, as you say? She seems ready and willing.”

Her head still tipped up and held in place by Lucius, Hermione could only watch out of the corner of her eyes as Draco made his way to their side. He sat on the arm of the chair, stretching one arm behind Lucius’ head and bending close to her. “Is that what you want, sweetheart? Do you want to play?” Each word was spoken against the skin of her neck as a soft wet kiss.

The dark edge to his soft, husky voice sent white-hot arousal shooting through every system of her body. It spread goosebumps over her bare skin, tightened her nipples to hard peaks, caused the soft flesh between her legs to throb, and sent a gush of fluid running down her thigh.  _ Dear sweet Circe riding Merlin’s Firebolt in a closet, YES!  _ Hermione moaned directly into Draco’s ear.

The noise caused him to pull back with a self-satisfied expression, and he glanced at Lucius. “Such a greedy girl. Shall we make her ask nicely?”

The return of Draco’s confidence was both a relief and a slight irritation. How was it he was able to regain that level of smugness so quickly? She wanted it for herself for the express purpose of wiping that look off his face! Thinking as quickly as she could under such lust-clouded circumstances, she breathed, “I’m so  _ wet _ , Draco; just  _ see _ how wet I am.”

Predictably his eyes glazed over and his nearest hand moved toward the hem of her jersey. Just as his fingers closed around it, though, Hermione twitched it from his grasp. “Ask  _ nicely _ ,” she said in a sultry tone.

Lucius chuckled as his younger brother flip-flopped from authoritative to shocked in the span of a heartbeat. “You said it yourself: she’s a feisty one.” Turning his attention to her, he lifted one eyebrow and scolded, “Play  _ nicely _ , pet.” He reinforced his order with a firm swat to her backside, which had her squirming and moaning again. “Now kiss Draco and make up.”

“Yeeeessss, sir!” Hermione found her head being turned toward her younger husband by Lucius’ handful of curls. When their eyes met, she couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve been a bad girl. Want to make up with me?”

Draco smirked. “I want to do  _ something _ with you.” He bent down and kissed her, pushing his tongue between her lips in slow, deep thrusts. With his other hand he tugged her jersey back out of his way, pushing her legs apart. Pulling away from her mouth, he glanced down to where his hand stroked maddeningly slowly up her inner thigh.

“Please play with me, Draco,” she whispered, enjoying the immense rush of power that came with those submissive words. “There,” she added with a gleam in her eye, “was that nice enough?” She was in control of every order, every touch given her by her husbands. The mood shifted, and suddenly the room was at least twenty degrees hotter and darker. 

Draco looked to Lucius, and Lucius looked to her. Hermione divided her gaze between the two blond wizards and for the first time found herself participating in one of their unnerving, silent communications. Each subtle shift of expression, each twitch of an eye or curl of a mouth acquired significance, and within seconds the three of them were nodding at each other and rising to stand. Within her the covenant began a purr of contentment that spread in ripples over the surface of her consciousness.

Her husbands led her to the bookcase on the far side of the room, to a spot where the air seemed to shimmer. They each kissed the back of her left hand, where her beautiful dragon handmark was almost completely faded. “After you, Wife,” Lucius breathed in a reverent way.

She turned to her husbands in a rush of confidence and grinned. “Don’t keep me waiting long, you two.” Then, stepping backward into the bookcase she thought of the need to leave the room, and of the passageways meant only for her and her family. Less than a second later she was sucked into that cool dark void, where she conjured the image of her destination: the House bed.

(page break thingie)

At her entrance every candelabrum and wall sconce flamed to life and the hearth lit with a rush of heat and light. The room seemed to reach toward her, drawing her into an intimate embrace. Hermione breathed in the dark, heady magic of the Malfoy covenant and savored its caress. It was the same as she remembered it: the sensation of a lover’s tongue licking along her skin, coupled with the fragrance of her Amortentia. Her first exposure to this feeling had been when she’d unwittingly accepted her war stake, and the next had been at her binding ceremony. Then she’d entered this room for her odalisque; her friends had felt uncomfortably out of place, but to Hermione it was as though this room had been waiting just for her. It was becoming increasingly familiar and welcome in its sensual sensory input. Her body responded immediately and without reservation.

She was pulled by a seductive thrum of magic across the candle-lit room toward the enormous bed and had just clambered up onto it when there was a quiet  _ whoosh _ announcing the arrival of one of her wizards. Continuing her crawl toward the head of the bed she glanced over her shoulder. 

Draco stood by the fireside, eyes pinned on her backside. He smoldered at her in a way that made her tug down her jersey with a self-conscious smile and crawl that much faster toward the wide double row of pillows against the headboard. Her progress was stopped abruptly when a large hand wrapped around her ankle and dragged her back down the length of the bed. Hermione gave a happy yelp of surprise and kicked at his hold to no avail. Laughing, he moved his grip to her waist and added another hand, manhandling her until she was bent over the side of the bed.

The atmosphere thickened yet more and that thread of magic sought her out, lacing through her runes and twining around her gut. Hermione struggled against her husband, less in an effort to get away than in an attempt to find friction for her aching nipples and core.

Draco leaned down over her until his warm chest was pressed to her back. “Trying to escape again?” With one hand he pushed her curls off her neck and applied his mouth to the sensitive juncture of shoulder and neck. When she wriggled beneath him and moaned at the sensation he chuckled. “I assure you there’s nowhere for you to hide, sweetheart.” He began moving against her, his pajama-covered hardened length trapped between them.

The oversized jersey she was wearing had ridden up to her armpits when she’d been yanked across the bed, and now nearly every inch of skin on the front of her body was stimulated by bedding of the softest, coolest silk imaginable. Hermione writhed against it and gave a small gasp of pleasure when Draco nipped at her neck with his teeth. Through the rapidly gathering lust-haze she managed to ask, “Where’s Lucius?”

Draco growled against her shoulder. “He’ll be here shortly; an owl arrived as we were leaving his study.” He slid a hand between the bed and Hermione’s stomach and moved it down until his fingers reached the soaked curls covering her lower lips. “Shall we see what we can get up to in the meantime?” Extending the fingers of the hand between her legs, he nudged until she was spread wide beneath him. “I need to be inside you  _ now _ .”

Hermione tried to push into his teasing touch. “Sh-shouldn’t we-  _ Oh _ ! Wait?  _ Mmmm _ . For Lucius?” She groaned and reached behind her back to divest Draco of his flannel pajamas, ending up with a handful of hard shaft. 

Draco removed her hand with a muffled curse, a rustle of movement indicating he was lowering his trousers. Less than a second later he pushed into her wet channel with a groan. “We agreed to no release before he arrives.” 

_ How’s that going to work, _ she groused internally. Sex might be a relatively new thing to her, but even  _ she _ knew the whole point of it was orgasm. “Whose stupid idea was that?” She arched her back and pushed her bum into him in an attempt to fit them together more closely. “O-o-o-h . . .” He was seated within her fully now, pinning her hips to the bed in a satisfying way. 

“I thought you wanted to  _ play _ , Hermione.” He leaned so the front of his large torso lay along her back and ran his lips over her cheek. “Surely release can wait.” He withdrew almost completely and thrust in again slowly.  _ Too  _ slowly. “Nevertheless I look forward to hearing you beg for yours.” He lifted her off the bed by a hand to her shoulder and tugged at her nipples with the other. “Come on, Princess; ask me to let you come.” __ Just then another  _ whoosh _ signaled Lucius’ entrance. Draco all but snarled, “It’s about time. What took you so long?” Draco stroked in and out again, eliciting from her a needy sound.

The sound of Lucius chuckling coincided with the bed sinking down to her left. Hermione turned her head toward her elder husband. She closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure at the feel of his hand moving along her side.

“Such impatience, brother. It has been less than five minutes since you left my study.” Now he was gently removing her bunched-up jersey. “The Ministry requires my personal testimony regarding our recent . . .  _ break-ins _ . Kingsley has offered to take it himself, and would like to meet in the morning.” He traced the edge of her necklace with tender fingers. “Now tell me how our Wife feels around your cock. Does her pretty cunt grip you tightly?” At the casually asked question, made even filthier and more arousing by Lucius’ aristocratic drawl, Hermione moaned his name and reached a hand toward him. He raised it to his mouth and pressed a formal kiss to it.

“Unbelievably so.” Draco gave another slow thrust, eliciting a keen of frustrated pleasure from the witch in question. “She’s wet and wanting; see for yourself.” He withdrew from her body but remained behind her, one large hand pushing her back down against the bed.

The ghost of a twinkle in his eyes, Lucius bent at the waist and caught Hermione’s lips in a brief kiss that provoked more than it satisfied. He broke from her mouth and traded places with his brother. Leaning down as Draco had done only seconds before, he murmured into the skin of her neck, “If it pleases you, I would share in this act.” As he spoke, he rubbed his erection along the split of her seam, coating it in her fluid.

He seemed to be waiting for permission, and Hermione hummed her response. Any and all previous hesitancy was gone on her part, replaced by that thread of magic that now thrummed throughout her body. She reached up to tangle her hands in his long hair, jerking on it unintentionally when his cock filled her channel. As before, the action pressed her lower half firmly against the bed. She spread her legs wider and hung onto his thick hair. When he made no further move, she growled, “ _ For Merlin’s sake move, Lucius! _ ”

  
  


Either he hadn’t heard her order or he chose to ignore it. He stilled within her and addressed his brother, his arms wrapping around her in a tender embrace. “I had an idea for a game, Draco. I don’t suppose you would be interested in hearing it.” He’d slipped a hand down to her mound mid-sentence and was now playing idly with her sensitized nub. When Hermione tried to move against his talented fingers, he tutted in her ear and thrust forcefully into her. “Now, now, pet.  _ Patience _ .” He removed his hand and chuckled when she growled again. “Well, Draco?”

The younger Malfoy wizard leaned down on one toned forearm so that his face was close to Hermione’s own. “What do you, think, sweetheart; would you like to hear Lucius’ game?” He pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing her cries when Lucius began moving at a slow, steady pace. 

Lucius, when he finally spoke, sounded oddly calm and collected for a wizard with his wand up his witch. “I suggest a game of stakes, the winner to claim our Wife in this bed first. If she agrees, of course.” 

Hermione broke her kiss with Draco, curiosity only adding to her aroused state. “What game? What are the rules? It isn’t fair to exclude me from the competi- Mmmmmph!” 

Draco cut her off by leaning forward and kissing her again, his tongue pushing between her lips to mate with hers as their lips crushed together. When breathing became necessary, he pulled away with a smirk. “You heard our Wife, Lu: state the game and its rules.” He pushed up off the bed. “And I believe it’s my turn.”

No sooner had Lucius acquiesced than Draco took his place. Hermione looked over her shoulder with a grin. She wiggled her bottom invitingly at Draco and moaned in delight when he thrust into her without warning. If the wantonness of their  _ play _ thus far was arousing, the physical pleasure was doubly so.  _ Play indeed, _ she thought through her fog of lust.

Lucius was tugging gently on a handful of her hair. “Pay attention, pet.” He used his other hand to trace a path down her neck, over her collarbones, to her breasts. He cupped one lush orb and squeezed it gently, catching her rune-marked nipple in the join of two fingers. Then, pinching and rolling it between those digits in a maddening rhythm, he continued, “A game in this place must be attractive to all involved, and above all else sanctioned by you, Wife. If you are willing, I suggest this challenge involve your pleasure at our hands.” He released his grip on her hair and resumed his attention to the soft, wet skin of her seam even as Draco continued to stroke in and out of her core. 

Hermione grunted in pleasure. “Yesssss.” When Lucius suddenly paused and Draco withdrew from her body, she hissed in frustration, “ _ Stop teasing me, you two! _ ”

Lucius chuckled and gave her backside a firm swat. “Such an impertinent minx,” he murmured appreciatively. “What say you, Draco?”

Hermione sighed and climbed up onto the bed, sitting beside Draco to run one foot up and down Lucius’ inner thighs. He caught it with a twinkle and leaned to nibble playfully at her arch before releasing it.

One glance up and sideways showed Draco smirking darkly at her. “I say we tie her to the bed and see how many times we can make her come. You’d like that; wouldn’t you, Princess?”

Hermione could only whimper at the level of smugness he exuded in that moment. In a last-minute attempt to turn the tables on him, she bent low to place a kiss on the tip of his cock; that backfired, though, when he held her there with one strong hand. A gush of arousal fluid dripped down her thigh at the dominant move, and her tongue darted out to taste him almost reflexively.

Draco combed his free hand through her curls and commanded in a raspy tone, “Please open your pretty mouth, Princess. Suck me while we decide what we’re going to do with you.”

She grinned to herself.  _ He said ‘please’.  _ She complied, listening to the debauched conversation going on above her head as she licked and sucked at the hard flesh and made her younger husband moan.

Lucius ran a hand over Hermione’s arse, startling her momentarily. His fingers trailed down between her legs, swiping through the wetness gathering there. “Someone is pleased with the idea.” He returned his hand to her dripping seam and slapped her there gently, the force of the small blow landing on her clitoris. “There shall be no penetration of any kind once she is bound.”

Hermione wailed with the pleasure of the unexpected touch, causing Draco to buck into her mouth. She pulled back, gagging, to find him looking at her with a grin that was at once guilty and triumphant. “I apologize, sweetheart.” He released his hold of her hair and turned to Lucius. “No repetitions of method in giving her an orgasm.”

Lucius gave her several more sensual slaps that had her spreading her legs even wider and pushing into his touch. “She shall not be made to work for her release.”

Draco’s expression in that moment was the culmination of youth and confidence. “Winner takes her first on this bed. You’ll wait your turn and watch, old man.” 

Lucius, who had been sucking his fingers clean, gave a happy-sounding laugh and turned his attention back to Hermione. He motioned for her to sit up, and when she was kneeling on the bed before him drew her into his arms for a kiss. His mouth tasted of her own arousal, which was oddly gratifying. 

_ Lucius likes the taste of me. _ She pushed her tongue into his mouth curiously, exploring the combination of their flavors.  _ I certainly like the taste of him. _ The kiss was long and leisurely, a pleasure with no other goal other than itself. 

Lucius allowed her to control the kiss for a few heady seconds before he took over completely. Finally he broke away and turned to Draco. “I think you will find that in these kinds of games there are only winners, so long as in the end our Wife is sated and dripping with our seed.” He looked back at her with a tender expression and cupped her cheek. “After all, this room was made for the worship of  _ her _ .”

What was it about being discussed as if she weren’t even there? About the thought of being tied up and touched by two men with such feral expressions on their handsome faces? What was it about having such decisions made for her? Hermione shuddered, making her way to the headboard. There she sprawled in almost an exact representation of her odalisque, willing her husbands to turn and notice.

It took less than fifteen seconds for them to conclude their hosing down of the bed with testosterone, and then their faces darkened. The air thickened and pulsed around them. Draco raised his wand-hand, mouth open, and Hermione braced for some version of a restraining Charm. Lucius stopped him with an arm around his shoulders. “I would prefer her kneeling, if you please.” He lifted an imperious brow at her, an amused smirk gracing his well-shaped mouth. “Up you go, pet, and spread your lovely legs.” He turned to his young brother. “Be sure your restraints are sufficient, Draco. She should be able to do nothing but scream our names.”

Moments later Hermione found herself relatively immobilized in the center of that enormous bed. Her wrists were wrapped in cords of soft silk, which drew her arms away from her sides and were seemingly fastened to the thrumming air itself. Cords encircled her legs just above her knees as well, keeping them spread to Lucius’ specifications. She tested her fetters in various ways, pleased to find they were tight. Gone was the self-conscious witch in Draco’s bed, and in her place was one who welcomed the admiring gazes and touches of her wizards. It could have been the magic in the room; its steady pulse had become almost a throb, beating against her skin and through her body in a primal rhythm. It could have been her husbands, whose large, warm hands traced over her flesh and whose masculine tones vibrated deep in her gut. The room was steeped in magic of the covenant and the heady promise of sex, and the combination was going to kill Hermione with pure anticipation. “For the love of all that’s magic; come  _ on _ , you two!” She snapped impatiently. “You’re  _ killing _ me!”

Lucius and Draco, both stripped of their pajama bottoms and kneeling on the bed in all their naked glory, only smiled wickedly at her and engaged in one of their silent conversations. Her elder husband knelt in front of her, towering over her diminutive frame, while her younger husband did the same behind her. Finally Lucius leaned low to murmur against the corner of her mouth, “I would far prefer sweet noises to come from that mouth, pet.”

Hermione yanked against her restraints, mouth open and ready to deliver a smart reply, when she thought better of it. Dropping her eyes she said meekly, “Yes, sir.”  _ Oh, if you two think you’re the only ones playing this game . . . _ She peeked up at him through her lashes.

His eyes flashed, and a hungry expression passed over his aristocratic features. It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only a rapidly flexing jaw muscle. He turned his gaze to Draco. “Would you care to go first?”

The younger Malfoy pressed his warm chest and stomach to her back. He hummed against her temple, hands going to her breasts. “Thank you, I would.” He moved his mouth over her cheek, down to her mouth. “I’d like to kiss you.”

Those words, an allusion to their first study date in the Hogwarts library, had a devastating effect on Hermione. She craned her neck to the side, arching eagerly to press her lips to his. Then his hands began playing her body, and everything else was forgotten for a while. Draco used his advantage in height and weight to keep her pinned in that position: mouth engaged in his kiss, body arched into his touch. Clever fingers slid through her wet folds, sliding and circling in a persistent pattern; they spread over her chest to rub both tight peaks with gloriously calloused fingertips. 

Hermione moved against his touch as much as her restraints would allow, breaking their kiss finally to drop her head back to his chest and pant breathlessly. She’d been aroused before they’d even entered this room, and then teased nearly to the point of madness. Now she broke into a light sweat as a lovely coil began winding tight deep within her gut. “Please,” she begged shamelessly. “Draco,  _ please _ .”

Mouth now free, Draco added filthy words to his pursuit of her climax. “ _ Merlin _ , but I like the sound of that: Gryffindor’s Princess, stripped and tied to my bed and  _ begging  _ me to touch her.” He rutted against her lower back. “You like it just as much; don’t you, Princess? Go on, tell me you do.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” she nearly sobbed. “Don’t stop!”  _ So close! _ The angle of his fingers changed, causing them to rub against the opening of her channel. She rode his hand, desperate for more . . .  _ more _ . “There! Touch me  _ there _ ,” she ordered with a groan.

“I can’t, sweetheart. It’s against the rules, remember?” Draco echoed the tortured sound. “Fuck, you’re so  _ pure _ ; you can’t even say the word, can you? Say it Princess.” He ground the words through gritted teeth. “Tell me how badly your pussy wants to suck my fingers in and be fucked by them.” He picked up his pace between her legs, fingers still teasing that tempting spot. 

Hermione nodded desperately. “I’m so close, Draco. Oh, Circe . . . ” It was beginning. Her toes curled and her body arched tightly in preparation for the free-fall. 

“Fuck, Hermione – you’re running all over my hand, and I can  _ feel _ you throbbing.  _ Come _ , sweetheart; come for me.  _ Please _ .” It was Draco’s turn to beg shamelessly.

One last artful movement of his hand between her legs and Hermione was struck head-on by her climax. It jolted through her body, leaving shockwaves in its wake. She sank in Draco’s arms, boneless and gasping for breath. “One . . . mmmmmm. One point to Draco,” she managed after a while.

“One  _ solid  _ point for me. Your turn, Lu.” The tone of the younger Malfoy was incredibly smug.

Hermione rolled her eyes but could summon little irritation on her current wave of supreme bliss. She smiled lazily up at her elder husband. 

He looked down at her with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Are you ready, sweetling?”

_ Am I ready for more gratuitous pleasure? Hmmmmm, let me think . . .  _ Her smile widened to a grin, and she nodded.

He appeared to be contemplating something, brow furrowed, and then he raised one large hand to the breast marked with his rune. Lightly stroking the pebbled nipple with a fingertip, he said firmly, “You will listen to my instructions and obey them. Do you understand, pet?”

Breathless now for a completely different reason, she gasped, “Yes, sir.”

That seemed to please Lucius, who scraped the very tip of her peak with his blunt nail. “I find that particular form of address most pleasing; pray continue answering me in such a way. Close your eyes.”

Pushing into his touch she obeyed promptly. She jumped when a firm swat was delivered between her spread legs, mewling at the pleasurable sensation.

“What do you say, pet?” Lucius’ voice was right by her ear.

“Yes, sir,” she replied quickly. She was rewarded with another light touch to her runed nipple and a simultaneous slap to her bundle of nerves. Both sent a pulse surging deep through her gut.

“Good girl.” His silky drawl seemed to be connected to the parts of her body he was stimulating. “There is much pleasure to be had in games such as this one.”

The brightest witch of the age was a quick study and had a prodigious memory as well. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice! “Yes, sir.”

Another pleasing set of slap and light touch had her writhing slightly. His voice was in her other ear now, and he gave a small dark laugh. “I wonder, pet, what you would have thought had someone told you just two weeks ago that such a thing would bring you pleasure.” Another slap accompanied by the faintest of twists and tugs on her nipple. “Would you have thought such a thing possible?”

“Nngh.” She opened her eyes in dismay when Lucius’ hands left her body abruptly. “What-“

He frowned down at her, the effect completely ruined by his twinkling eyes and a teasing kiss. “Perhaps you would like me to stop?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Her outraged whisper caused him to chuckle. “Don’t stop, Lucius.”

“Then you should continue in the task I set for you, pet.” He kissed her again. “Perhaps more instructions will keep your lovely mind engaged.” Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You may begin counting. Do not forget to thank me.”

The order had her gut clenching in the most pleasing manner possible. “Yeeesssssss, sir.” She closed her eyes again and waited.

_ Slap, twist, tug. _ “Release is not defined by the speed of its delivery, but by its anticipation.” His voice was strained.

She groaned. “One. Thank you, sir.” _ There’s something to be said for immediate gratification, though. _

Two successive sets of sensual slap and tortuous twist and tug. “The sight of you bound in this bed makes my cock twitch, pet. I’m going to fill your sweet cunt with it shortly.”

“Oh, for-  _ TWO! THREE! THANK YOU, SIR!” _ Was there such a thing as death by filth and pleasure? It seemed more likely all the time!

Their rhythm of touch and reply went on and on, increasing in intensity until sweat ran down Hermione’s face and she was babbling her answers. There was a heavy throbbing between her legs that bordered on an ache, and it was directly tied to his attention to her rune. When Lucius suddenly stopped, it was all Hermione could do to remember her instructions and keep her eyes (and mouth) closed. She whimpered and squirmed desperately, seeking out the friction of his hands.

Finally he stroked trembling fingers from her neck down to her mound. “Open your eyes and watch, Hermione.” 

“Yes, sir.” She obeyed just in time to see him bend down and latch on to the breast that bore his rune. Her head dropped back against Draco’s chest as the sensation struck her like a lightning bolt of pure pleasure. “ _ Luciussss _ ,” she breathed, pushing the lush flesh of her breast against his mouth.

He broke his suckle with a loud, wet sound and met her gaze. “I wonder . . . ” He leaned to press a lingering kiss to the tight bud, watching as she nearly came undone from the simple act. He looked over her shoulder. “Draco, I propose a change to our game.”

Hermione was still savoring the memory his latest touch. Then she processed his words. “ _ What?!” _ Her shriek of frustration was met with a sternly raised eyebrow from Lucius.

From behind her Draco ran a soothing hand down her arm as he replied to Lucius, “To what end?”

The elder Malfoy looked from his brother to the curly-haired Wife. “You won her release with skill, and she is ready to fall apart at my hand as well.”

“True,” Draco agreed. “We’ve both proven we know how to please her.”

If Hermione had been set alight by her husbands’ hands, then her fuse was quickly burning up. “Oh, yes; let’s all stop and compliment each other’s cleverness  _ while the witch on the bed dies of spontaneous combustion! _ ” She glared at her husbands through narrowed eyes, noting their amused expressions. “If someone doesn’t touch me  _ now _ , I’m going to start hexing indiscriminately!”

Lucius gave a happy laugh, his previously dark expression lighting up with boyish delight. Holding her gaze he responded to the younger wizard, “Let us tend to our Wife’s runes together and see what happens.”

“Oh!  _ Research _ ,” Hermione responded brightly. She was instantly mollified, her curiosity and current state of arousal taking control of her temper.  _ Well, if you must _ .

Draco shifted around to kneel beside Lucius, a smile on his face as well. “Excellent idea, Lu.” He glanced at Hermione, his smile shifting to one of wickedness. “Are you ready, Princess?”

There was no time to reply as they sank down to sit on their calves in front of her, blond heads leaning low toward her breasts. Four hands wrapped around her hips and thighs while two well-shaped mouths closed around the tips of her breasts. Then there were blinding flashes of light and the sensation of electrocution running through every fibre of her body. And there was  _ pleasure _ – pleasure that was both unequalled and unimaginable. She cried their names, counting each release as it hit her and thanking them for it as Lucius had commanded her to do. Even in the midst of orgasmic chaos, it seemed, Hermione could multitask. Time seemed to slow – or did it speed up? – in that refuge of the Malfoy covenant. The very air pulsed, the fragrance of Hermione’s war stake intensified, and a thread of magic joined the three occupants in a twisted riot of golden loops and knots.

Her magical restraints kept her upright, as did her husbands’ hands as she sagged against them in complete loss of consciousness. Two blond heads lifted in concern, two well-shaped mouths formed words of love and released her from her bindings, and four hands laid her down upon the Malfoy House bed. But Hermione watched all this from across the large room, where she stood beside the family covenant.

(page break thingie)

She met its intense gaze, somehow unsurprised that in this special place it had an even more solid form than it had at her full moon ceremony. Then it had been enormous, its power obvious and slightly terrifying; now, it was if the covenant was more relaxed, more . . . at home.  _ That’s because it is, _ she thought with a small grin.  _ This is its home outside of our bodies. _ She felt a wave of its amusement wash over her, and then it spoke in that wonderfully familiar, completely Other voice. “Greetings, little Bespoken One. Do I have your attention now?”

Hermione raised one incredulous eyebrow, glancing over to where her wizards were tending to her unconscious body. “You could have just spoken to me, you know. I would have listened.”

“In my defense, little one, I sent a dream to you earlier today.” It laughed outright. “You have been  _ preoccupied _ .”

“Errrrrr.” She smirked, blushing.  _ So that was what I was trying to remember after my nap. _ “You could be right. What is it you need my attention for?”

The family magic was a mesmerizing thing to watch. Its nearly solid form shifted constantly and took on every color of the spectrum. “I have a message from the Fallen Four, preserved by the Remaining Twenty-Four in the hope of this day.”

Goosebumps broke out all over this alternate form of her body. She looked up at the covenant warily. “Do I want to know what it is?” Her own voice suddenly sounded faint to her ears. “Speak up, please. I can barely hear you!”

“My wizards are trying to pull you from this state. They will succeed shortly.” The covenant’s form began shifting more rapidly, as did its hues. “Listen well, Hermione Malfoy, bearer of the matriarch’s runes. The fate of my kind rests on your small shoulders, but I will guide you always.”

“That’s a bit melodramatic, even for you,” she scoffed. “Just tell me the message!”

It was already fading before her eyes, and the Hermione on the bed was beginning to regain consciousness. As the two versions of herself merged back together, the covenant whispered in her mind, “The message is this: ‘You are our only hope, Bespoken One. Restore us to our glory’.”

(page break thingie)

Large, gentle hands were stroking her hair and hands as Hermione opened her eyes. She smiled up at her husbands, committing the covenant’s message to the most sacred vault of her extraordinary memory. “Mmmmmmm. Ten. Thank you both.”

Draco blinked several times, a shocked expression on his handsome face. Lucius, however, wore his typical look of smug amusement. “Perhaps the challenge should have revolved around  _ quantity _ .”

She sighed contentedly. Whatever had just happened, it had left her completely rejuvenated. “Since it  _ didn’t _ , it ended in a tie. That means equal bragging rights to you both.” She looked between the two wizards, who were both staring at her in a hungry, calculating sort of way. “I seem to remember something about ‘to be wanted without patience and taken with even less’. Now who’s going to ravish me first?”

Two well-shaped mouths curled into predatory smiles, four strong hands tightened their grip on her. The air thickened yet again, and the fragrance of the war-stake settled over them like a veil. Around the edge of Hermione’s awareness the covenant settled down with a wave of satisfaction. It began purring in a decidedly self-satisfied way.

“I’m not begging this time,” the curly-haired Wife growled. “So stop teasing!”

  
  
  
  



	77. Sunday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, Dear Readers! I forgot the significance of yesterday and DID NOT POST. *languishes across chaise longue, hand draped dramatically across forehead*. In what depths of repentance doth my soul drown! *is distracted by Glitterazza howling along in shared sorrow (and quite possibly the smell of dinner expiring in the oven)*
> 
> Hopefully this devilish chapter will make temporary amends. The Glitter Litter are all back at uni and their various jobs, and Mr G has meetings until late this evening, which means I have time to chatter to you for a few moments before getting back to 'Rivers of the Deep', my WIP. I lost momentum for my latest baby when the crazy people on Fanfic got particularly hateful, and am considering posting it only here on AO3. Readers here are opinionated, yet kind -- and I count myself as such a one -- and tend to follow the 'don't like, don't read' philosophy. This is truly a great website, n'est-ce pas? But I digress . . .
> 
> Also, Mother Nature needs to take some meds, bcs she's clearly bipolar. Last week it was -17F (windchill not included) here in the Great North; today was 40F. Even the squirrels are confused. Once more, I digress . . .
> 
> Now let's pick up where we left off!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Sunday morning

Desire and destiny preoccupied Hermione’s dreams that night while she slept between two large, warm bodies. She dreamed she was a princess, caught in a magical snare set by a wizard king and his princely brother; she dreamed of their dark, lordly manor, which awoke at her touch and transformed into a place of light and life; she dreamed of a redheaded queen who kissed her forehead tenderly and smothered her in fierce hugs; she dreamed of the beautiful, evil witch whose duty it was to guard her virtue at any cost; mostly, though, she dreamed of that king and his brother and the wicked, wicked things they murmured in her ear. 

She woke early, as was her wont, a smile on her lips.  _ If I were to write the past three weeks of my life down in story-form, it would make the most outlandish reading material. Muggles would eat this up on toast _ . 

Her brain turned to more practical thoughts and began cataloguing the sensory input of her current environment. There was a warm, hard chest rising and falling in sleep against her lower back, its corresponding face smooshed between her shoulders and hand curled around her hip.  _ Draco. _ He’d fallen asleep in that position hours before and hadn’t stirred since. It was such a change from the way he’d first slept in her presence; she smiled and laid her hand over his.  _ I don’t think nightmares stand a chance in this room _ , she thought with satisfaction.  _ Perhaps we should sleep in here regularly _ . 

Her smile broadened at that idea, probably because sleep was only one of several reasons to do so. The pervasive magic had kept them aroused and physically refreshed, resulting in hours of vigorous lovemaking followed by unparalleled rest. Even now she felt no residual soreness. Draco had fallen asleep first, but she and Lucius fought sleep a while longer, talking quietly about everything and nothing. Hermione reached a hand to where he’d slept slightly apart from her and Draco, only to find cool empty sheets. Her head popped up off her pillow, eyes opening to the candlelit, windowless room.

A brief visual search found him dressing by the flickering hearth, his long pale hair gleaming wet in the firelight. He was bare-chested, facing her direction as he pulled on his trousers, and he looked up at her movement. Spellbound, Hermione paused to admire her elder husband in the room’s low, warm light. Wall torches, candelabra, and the flame of the hearth behind him recreated Lucius as a god of Muggle myth; he was incandescent, as if lit from within by fire. For one brief moment it was as though she were seeing the embodiment of his passionate spirit and she marveled at the sight. Then, with the flick of one elegant eyebrow and the crook of one long finger he broke the spell and drew her out of bed as easily as if he’d Summoned her with magic.

Hermione slid out from under the weight of Draco’s hand, which dropped heavily to the bed in evidence of his deep slumber. She paused only to draw the coverlet up over his bare shoulders before easing gently off the high mattress and padding over the thick rug to her elder husband. Draco’s Quidditch jersey, which had been her makeshift nightgown, was nowhere in sight. Then again, there was no need for it; the heat of her husband’s gaze and the thick fragrant air of the room felt like covering enough.

Lucius wore a pleased expression as he raked his eyes over her bare form, beckoning her into his arms. “Good morning, my prize.” His voice was still rough from sleep, adding yet another layer of sensuality to his normally silky tones. “Did you sleep well?”

“Hmmmmm.” She hummed against his chest, enjoying the feel of his hands against her skin as she remembered her dreams. “I did; and you?” She looked up into his face, running her fingertips under the sagging waistband of his as-yet unbuttoned trousers. A small detail of her tactile exploration caught her attention, and she pushed away just enough to look down. “Lucius, you’re not wearing any boxers.”

He pulled her hands away from his hips with a quiet laugh. “It would seem that in my haste to see you before I left, I forgot a layer of clothing. Now mind your naughty fingers, pet, and kiss me good-morning.”

Hermione tipped her head back as far as she could, meeting his well-shaped mouth eagerly. If he was bothered by the fact that she hadn’t yet brushed her teeth he hid it well. For his part Lucius tasted of mint and man, and he kissed those flavors into her lips and tongue thoroughly. His free hand cupped her backside, pulling her against him firmly. He pushed his hips into her smaller form, breaking their kiss with a mock frown. “Now see what you’ve done, pet.”

She bit back her smirk and tugged a hand from his grasp, running it down his thick, strong torso to the steel rod now holding up his trousers. She wrapped her hand around it and gave it an experimental squeeze. “This is _ my  _ fault?”

He gave a satisfying grunt and removed her hand from his trousered shaft. “I can assure you, I was not in this state before you left our bed.”

Hermione began turning away from him. “In that case, I’ll just-” She broke off with a quiet yelp as she was yanked backward into his chest.

“What a wicked witch you are to tease me so early in the morning,” he chuckled into the curls covering her left ear. His breath separated the individual hairs, causing them to tickle against her skin in a thoroughly fantastic way. His fingers were rubbing over her ribs in a familiar pattern, inching higher with each sweep. “Was that your intent, my lovely?”

She shivered at the sensations and glanced up at him over her shoulder. Lucius’ eyes were half-closed, his mouth curved into the hint of a soft smile, and he looked younger and happier than she’d yet seen him.  _ He’s leaving to take care of business for our House without any complaint or thought for himself.  _ _ Here is a man who deserves so much more than teasing,  _ she thought _. _ “I’d rather please you.”

When his only response was to pull her even more firmly back into his chest, Hermione wriggled around until she was once again facing him. She shivered with the anticipation of pleasure and stretched on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.  _ He likes that idea. _ “Let me please you this morning,” she reiterated.

Lucius’ expression became slightly calculating, although he still regarded her with a playful gleam in his eye. “And how do you propose to accomplish such a thing?” He leaned low and pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth, squeezing her backside with one large hand. “I fear my time is limited.”

She pulled away.  _ I’m going to go down on my knees and suck that great big cock of yours like a lolly. _ After all she’d done with this man, surely she could utter a few daring words! Hermione licked her lips and began, “I want to-” only to find her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth. She flushed and tried again. “I-”

Lucius grinned wolfishly. “ _ There _ is my ingénue, with her virginal blush and pure mouth. I wonder, pet, what kind of thought has stained your cheeks such a dark hue.” He took hold of her chin and tipped her face upward, peering intently into her eyes. “What form of pleasure has you so shy?”

For one brief moment it occurred to Hermione that Lucius was almost certainly capable of Legilimency. Even as she quickly dropped her eyes, though, she knew he wouldn’t use such a thing on her. That restored enough confidence for her to counter in a small but brave voice, “I’d rather show you. Sit down and find out.” She pushed against his broad, warm chest.

A shadow of some indefinable emotion flitted across Lucius’ aristocratic features. He quirked an eyebrow and didn’t budge from his spot. Within her, the covenant seemed to sit up and wait for her response.  _ How does one dominate a dominant wizard?  _

She thought for a second and then looked up at him through her lashes, allowing her face to relax into utter innocence. “ _ Please _ , Lucius?” While she spoke, she trailed her fingers down his chest. 

His gaze softened once again and he seemed to relent, because he allowed her to back him up to the couch and push him down to sit on it. 

_ I wonder which of us is actually in control right now. Oh.  _ Hermione stepped back as she processed the sight before her: her elder husband sat sprawled back on the comfortable leather couch, arms spread along its back and well-cut wool trousers still unfastened and riding low on his hips.  _ Hello, handsome. _

He was gazing up at her with heavy-lidded eyes and his signature smirk. Making a kissing noise as one would to call a cat he murmured, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Hermione had always been a quick study and recognized a perfect lead-in when she saw one. She dropped on all fours and prowled toward her elder husband, grinning impishly at him as she covered the short distance between them. When she reached his widespread knees she nuzzled her face up one long, strong inner thigh. A quick glance upward proved her unexpected move had knocked his smug demeanor down a peg or two, especially when she added a mischievous, “Meow.”

Some slight shift in mood altered the atmosphere around them at that point. Lucius sat in the same confident manner as before, but now his expression was one of trepidation and his tone was cautionary. “What are you doing, my prize?”

The mood of the covenant within the curly-haired Wife was shifting as well, but it, too, was subtle. By that point Hermione had reached the top of his thigh, and she looked at him again as she ran her nose over the hard length rising from between his legs and resting slightly to the left of the placket of his trousers. “I should think it would be fairly obvious.”

A bunch of her wild hair was caught in a large, gentle hand, arresting her movement. “Climb into my lap like a good kitten.”

Leaning into his touch, she quirked an eyebrow in parody of her elder husband. “I’d rather stay here.” With her fingers she traced the long, thick outline of his erection down to where his bollocks hung heavy beneath. Then, in a burst of confidence she added, “Your kitten wants a mouthful of cream.”

“ _ Hermione _ .” Lucius groaned her name in a tortured way and at the same time pressed her face into his groin. Just as quickly, though, he moved her away and guided her up off her knees using his handful of hair as leverage. “ _ No _ .” He pulled her down to straddle his lap, until she sat flush with his groin, the zipper of his trousers laying in the sensitive crease of her leg. His eyes flashed in the candlelight.

Behind them in the House bed, Draco stirred.

Hermione had followed his physical direction without thinking, but the feel of that cool metal fastener against her skin snapped her out of her Malfoy-induced stupor. His last word had been like a slap, and her feminine ego was wounded. She asked in a defensive tone, “Why not?”  _ And why is it that whenever I try to do this, you push me away? _ The family magic began restlessly prowling the edge of her awareness.

Draco was now sitting up and stretching lazily.

It was obvious that Lucius was intent on taking control. His posture was less casual, his arrogant mask had slipped into place, and his hands tightened their grip on her hips ever so slightly. “There are countless other ways for you to please me; for instance, I would far rather lay you down on this couch and cover your body with mine.”

_ The ultimate act of dominance _ . His words were incendiary in more than one way, and she poked her finger into his broad chest and growled loudly, “I’m  _ trying  _ to  _ please _ you,  _ Lucius _ . You’re being  _ ridiculous _ .” What had started out as a flirtatious game was quickly becoming a somewhat embarrassing power struggle that Hermione was determined to win. The covenant twitched its metaphorical tail in agitation, but she brushed the sensation off.  _ Oh, yes; you would take his side! _

The younger Malfoy wizard seemed to become aware of the fireside drama. “Are you two arguing already?” He was completely ignored as he began hunting for something on the floor, presumably his pajama bottoms.

“Mind your temper, Hermione.” Her elder wizard’s tone was one of warning.

“Well, you seemed to enjoy it well enough at our second rune ceremony!”

“That was a mistake made under the influence of alcohol.” Lucius narrowed his eyes. “And  _ I _ do not  _ wish _ to repeat it.”

In the corner of her eye she was aware of Draco approaching them, tightening the drawstring of his trousers. “What’s going on?”

_ Mistake? _ That stung deeply. “Oh,  _ really _ !” Sparks of magic played along the ends of her hair even as traitorous tears of humiliation pooled in her eyes. She pushed away from his chest and struggled to climb off his lap. She batted at his hands, which had tightened yet again around her hips. “Just let go of me!”

Lucius growled his frustration loudly but didn’t let go. Instead he pulled her tightly against his chest and kissed her forehead tenderly. He sighed heavily. “Now is not the best time for this conversation, my love, but I fear it is the  _ right _ one.”

She was effectively confused and temporarily distracted from her fit of pique. “What conversation?”

Draco sank down onto the couch beside them, solemn-faced. “Shall I leave?”

Lucius’ glacial eyes were guarded for one brief moment before they softened. “No, Draco. That is not the way of a Pureblood marriage. Stay.”

_ There will be no secrets between the three of  _ us, Lucius had said on the evening they’d left Hogwarts. The covenant seemed to relax within her; at least, it was no longer pacing her consciousness with a bottlebrush tail. Hermione’s response was to reach out and grab her younger husband’s nearest hand and regard her elder husband with nervous curiosity.  _ What in Merlin’s name . . . _

Lucius closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then cast a Patronus. “Kingsley, I shall be late for our meeting.” When the spectral fox had leapt from the room, he kept his eyes fixed on the bright hearth behind Hermione and spoke in a quiet voice. “There is so much of my life worth forgetting, Draco; so much I have wanted to keep from you . . . ”

Then Hermione knew; she  _ knew _ . It had been a power-struggle, but not one that had anything to with her personally.  _ This is about Abraxas, and most certainly about Narcissa. _ She pressed her lips against his fragrant skin and snuggled down into the nook between his strong jaw and even stronger shoulder.  _ Oh, my love. _

He spoke in clumsy phrases and groups of inelegant words; the fact that they were so unlike his usual graceful pattern of speech only emphasized his discomfort. He began by telling Draco what little he’d already told Hermione about Narcissa Malfoy. His fingers dug into her waist as he spoke, but it was obvious he was unconscious of the action. Draco listened quietly, a grave look on his handsome young face and his free hand on Lucius’ shoulder. For her part, she stroked her fingers through his hair and nestled as close as she could to him.

He pushed out the words as if they burned his lips, concluding, “As a child I learned never to let down my guard around my father; that rule applied doubly when we wedded Narcissa, but I lowered it when she came to my bed. Then later, in here . . . she was . . .  _ cruel _ , to say the very least. This room,” here he glanced around them with emotionless eyes, “was a playground of pain for both her and Abraxas. I came here willingly only once. After that . . . ” He trailed off, eyes still on the fireplace.

_ He said ‘willingly’. Circe’s heart; what did that vile creature do to him? _ “No more suffering or pain, Lucius; never again,” she murmured, resting her head once again in her nook.  __ “I’ll spend the rest of our life together ensuring that.” Her brain was trying desperately to translate the puzzle that was Lucius Malfoy within the context of this new understanding.  _ So many layers of allure and wit and command, all distracting from what lies at the very middle: a nineteen-year-old boy who is still afraid. _

“ _ She _ took the act you offered and used it as a means of torture.” His voice was less tense, and he had dropped his head to lean it against the top of hers.

“What act?” Draco’s face was pale, and his large hand squeezed the curly-haired Wife’s small one tightly.

When Lucius’ only response was another heavy sigh Hermione blurted, “I wanted to suck his cock like a lolly.” When a wide-eyed silence ensued she blushingly argued, “Oh, it’s not as though you two don’t say far more shocking things on a regular basis!”

Her retort marked the beginning of a slow ascent from the deeply troubled topic of conversation. Some thirty minutes later a yawning, somewhat reassured Draco returned to bed after exchanging a manly hug with Lucius and securing a promise from Hermione that she would join him soon. Lucius watched him go with a protective look in his eye. “He hasn’t slept like that in years.”

The air thickened palpably, blanketing the House of Malfoy in an emotional blend of peace, comfort, and the slightest hint of smugness. Hermione wrapped herself even tighter around her elder husband’s torso. “It’s this room, Lucius. This is where our covenant resides outside of us; it’s only natural for us to feel safe here.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling as she remembered the first time she’d dared to do such a thing.  _ We’ve come so far in such a short amount of time. _

“That has not always been so; this place has changed since you entered it.” He stroked a finger over her cheek.

She caught his gaze again and held it steadily as goose bumps spread over her skin from his simple touch. “Maybe that’s because of what the Unspeakable said at our wedding about me being a strong conduit of Dark magic.”

“It has nothing to do with that, pet,” he said dismissively, his normal silky tone winning over its earlier roughness. “You fill every room you enter with safety for me, if only I choose to let down my guard.”

The young Wife kissed her husband tenderly, telling him with every brush of her lips and flick of her tongue all the things mere words can only begin to describe. Hands ran worshipfully over bare skin, breath mingled, and the atmosphere shifted once more. Within her the covenant commenced its contented purr.

When they broke apart minutes later, she bit back her grin. A familiar rod was once again lodged in the crease of her thigh. “If you’re not going to let me . . . errrrrr . . . ”

Lucius, mercurial as ever, had already returned to his customary confident demeanor. He gave an amused hum and applied his teeth to her neck. “Where is my brazen kitten now?” Her response was to wriggle against him until he chuckled and groaned, “You will undoubtedly be the death of me, pet.”

The feel of his teeth against her skin sent a frisson of pure delight running along her spine. Taking compassion on him she offered generously, “I won’t try to control you again, Lucius. Now lay me down and cover my body with yours. I’m wet and wanting, don’t you know.” And it was true; she’d been that way since he had beckoned her from their bed.

Lucius gave a boyish laugh and proceeded to do just that. He looked down at her covetously. “Such a perfect prize you are.”

Hermione pushed her toes into the waistband of his trousers and managed to shimmy them further down his hips as he knelt between her spread thighs. “I’m glad you think so.”  _ Now stop teasing. _ She brushed her hands along his warm sides, trying to pull him closer.

He ran his nose along the lower edge of her necklace, nudging her Malfoy crest. “Ours to mark as we please.” He turned his heavy-lidded gaze to her runed nipples and ran lazy fingers over them in a teasing touch.

“Mmmmmmm, yes!” She pushed into his touch, impatiently waiting for him to join their bodies together. Hers was throbbing almost painfully.  _ Stop. Teasing. _

He smoothed his hand down her stomach and cupped her mound while speaking against the hollow off her throat. “Ours to take however we desire.”

_ Oh, my . . . that’s the hottest . . . Sweet Circe, but there’s something wrong me.  _ She fought past the urge to moan loudly. “Knock it off! You’re killing me!”

He smiled against her collarbone and then sat up abruptly, earning an aggravated snarl. “This is not how I wish to have you this morning.” Standing, he pulled her to her feet and moved in so close that Hermione was forced to take a step backward. He did it again, continuing to back her toward the fireplace as he silently demonstrated his dominance. “Such a pushy little thing. Shall I push back? Hmmmmm?”

“Lucius, stop teasing me this instant!”

They had reached the open space before the hearth and Lucius turned her to face away from him, leaning down to murmur in her ear as he tipped her head to the side by a handful of curls. “Growl all you like, little kitten. The noise pleases me almost as much as your mewls of pleasure.” He caught her tight nipples between his fingers and began tugging at them at the same time he began using the weight of his torso to bend her forward at the waist. “It would please me to see you down on your hands and knees, pet, with your lovely legs spread wide.”

Hermione’s gut clenched at those words and she hastened to obey. Falling to the carpet, she looked over her shoulder to where her elder husband stood shrugging off his trousers as he gazed down on her with a dark expression.

Lucius followed her down to the hearthrug, kneeling behind her. He ghosted his hands over the curves and angles of her prone body, and when she pushed into his touch he gave her a firm swat on the backside. The blow landed half-between her legs, causing her to writhe even more. That action earned her another slap. “Be  _ still _ , Wife.”

Hermione was having difficulty remembering the meaning of such basic language, so caught up was she in the sensations of her husband’s hands and his mouth, which was now leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along her spine. Every nerve ending between her legs crackled with want and need, and the flesh there felt hot and swollen. “Please,” she begged.

He slapped her again. “Please  _ what _ , pet?” As he smoothed a gentle hand over her bottom he muttered, “Surely there has never been a more perfectly-formed piece of flesh in this world.”

“Please  _ Lucius _ ,” she hazarded, not entirely sure of the correct answer. She bit her lip in the hope that a shot of pain might clear at least part of the lust fog in her head. It didn’t in the least.

He moved one hand down to her wet seam and the other to her head of wild curls. “Precisely. You wished to  _ please _ me, and please me you shall.” Then, tugging her head back until she could just see him out of the corner of her eyes, he crooned darkly, “Now tell me what has you squirming and dripping into my hand.”

The communication center of her prodigious brain seemed directly connected to the hand between her trembling thighs. Each brush of his fingers along that sensitive skin short-circuited any attempt on her part to speak. This earned her another slap. Finally she managed to croak incoherently, “I want . . . I need . . .”

_ Slap _ . He chuckled and gently pinched her swollen nub. “ _ Tell _ me.”

“I need to feel your cock inside me, Lucius.  _ Please _ .” The desperate words were out of her mouth before she could think, and then her head was tugged back as far as it would go.

“Such filthy words for so pretty a mouth,” he groaned, tracing the outline of her lips with his slick fingers and then pushing them inside. He watched slack-jawed as she latched on and sucked them clean. Then, all teasing ceased as, with wild eyes, Lucius leaned down and captured her mouth with his and joined them together in the same small space of time.

Hermione arched her back at the first thrust, overwhelmed by the different sensations afforded by the new position. Lucius had braced one long arm on the floor by her head, and each time he surged into her body her shoulder knocked against his forearm. “Nnngh! Luc-”

He curled his other hand beneath her body, using it both to support her and attend to her throbbing clit. “Come, pet.” The words were bitten out as if with great effort.

She strained between the shaft penetrating her and the palm pressing against her bundle of nerves. “Plea-”

They fell into a rhythm of thrusts and words, with Lucius repeating the same command and Hermione attempting to form coherent speech. Sweat ran from their pores, heightening the sound of their bodies moving together, and Lucius’ tempo and force increased until Hermione literally bowed to the pressure, temple pressed against the hearthrug and backside tipped into the air to accept the cock for which she’d so shamelessly begged. Time seemed to stop as they heeded nothing but the pleasure building between them until their limbs shook and their breathing became uncoordinated.

“Hermione,  _ come _ ,” he practically snarled. There was an underlying plea in his tone.

The curly-haired Wife may have only just recently discovered sex and its many variables, but she had applied her extraordinary mind to every possible outcome of her newly acquired information. The entreating pitch to his normally silky voice spoke of impending orgasm, and she realized he was determined she enjoy hers simultaneously. In an instinctual effort to comply, she wrapped one arm around Lucius’ neck for support and brought the other to where his hand gripped her mound. “Do that  _ thing _ you do,” she begged shamelessly. Then, turning her head as far as she could, she kissed him with equal desperation.

He made a low, hungry sound into her mouth and intuitively did as she requested, moving his clever fingers almost roughly over that sensitive spot, and when she was unexpectedly pushed off the edge of her metaphorical cliff of orgasm she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of relief. Lucius followed with a deep grunt, covering her small body with his larger one. His head came down beside hers, his breath hot and heavy in her ear. “Mmmmmmmph.”

The force of her forward fall and the abrasive scrub of the carpet against her nub caused her to freeze in rigor and cry out once more as another, smaller orgasm ripped through her body.

Her husband seemed pleased with this bonus, because he thrust into her several more times and marked the skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder with what felt to be a rather large love bite. After a few moments of worrying his mouthful of skin, he slipped from her and moved to lie on his back at her side.

Hermione gave him a goofy grin. “ _ Mmmmmmmph _ is right. That was . . . ”

Lucius raised an aristocratic eyebrow and smirked. “It was _most_ _pleasing_.”

Their former conversation replayed quickly in her head, and she rolled to her side facing him. Tracing a finger through the sparse blond hair of his chest she ventured, “I like when you’re in charge.”

He hummed in agreement, pulling her near and closing one large hand around her buttocks. “I prefer it that way. I am . . .  _ glad _ you agree.”

Her eyes inventoried his noble features – glacial, wide-set eyes; mobile mouth; well-knit bones and arching brows. His was a face meant for politics and intrigue, with its smooth arrogant mask that gave no hint of the real man beneath. Under the surface of that façade, though, was a complex being of deep and varied emotion.  _ A dangerous man, without doubt; but one who prefers to cuddle. _ She smiled and wriggled in his arms until she was able to cradle his head against her breasts and stroke his damp hair.  _ We just won’t call it cuddling, for his ego’s sake.  _ “How long do you plan to be gone today?”

He sighed. When he finally answered, his mouth moved against her skin like kisses. “I would have liked to have been done and home before noon.”

“It seems strange that it couldn’t have waited until Monday.” She pushed into the sensation, cooing when his lips passed over her responsive peak.

Lucius worried the tight bud with his teeth and tongue. “This is Kingsley’s way of preserving our privacy; this way the Ministry will be comparatively empty of people. Had I visited tomorrow, gossip of my very public absence from our honeymoon would have spread like Fiendfyre. It would have filled the papers, and we are in them enough as it is.” He redoubled his attention to her nipple.

Hermione groaned and curled her leg up over his hip in an attempt to pull them even closer together, discovering in the process another impressive erection pressing between her legs. She  _ wanted _ him again and fought the emotion mentally even as her body surrendered to it. “Is this normal? Oh, do that again! The way I want you almost constantly, I mean.  _ Nnngh _ .”

He ground against her and released her nipple with a slow, wet, toe-curling sound. “This is the covenant’s way of ensuring the survival of its House; we will feel this way until an heir has been conceived.”

She directed her elder husband’s mouth back to the tip of her breast.  _ Well, that gives contraceptive charms a whole new purpose _ , she mused inwardly.  _ The longer I hold out, the more mind-blowing sex I get. _ The family magic seemed to find humor in the idea, leading Hermione to believe once again it was far stronger than any simple charm. She ran a finger around the curve of Lucius’ ear and flexed her hips. “Since the covenant only wants what’s best for us, we shouldn’t fight it.”  _ It’s all in the name of duty, after all. _ She smirked at that last thought.  _ I’ll just lie back and think of wizarding England. _

He chuckled and cast a contraceptive charm at her command, and the two became one yet again. They stayed on their sides, wrapped in each other’s arms as they explored the relative equality of this new position, and when they found their release it was both quiet and profound.

When a sweaty, sated Lucius had tenderly kissed her good-bye and returned to his own rooms for another shower and change of clothes, a glowing Hermione crawled back into bed with Draco. She wasn’t the slightest bit tired, unfortunately. After ten minutes of studying the room and memorizing its every detail, she finally gave in to the temptation to wake her younger husband. It took another ten minutes of poking and tickling for him to regain consciousness.

“Mmmmmmmph. What do you want, little witch?” He rolled onto his side, facing her, and opened one eye.

“Exactly how long do you plan to sleep?” She ran her fingers down his pale, muscular chest until she came to that fascinating trail of dark blond hair below his navel. “Because the daylight is burning away.”

His eye drooped shut. “There’s no natural light in this room. How can you be so sure?”

With the vaguely malicious humor so often associated with early morning risers she flicked his ear gently. “I can feel it in my bo-o-ones,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Tell your bones to go back to sleep, please.” He groaned sleepily as he glanced back over his shoulder at the clock on the bedside table. “For Merlin’s sake, Hermione! It’s only seven o’clock.”

_ It’s like dealing with a pre-breakfast Ginny all over again.  _ Hermione ran her fingers through that soft trail of hair, dipping her fingers below the waistband of his pajama bottoms.  _ With a few considerable differences. _ “It’s  _ already _ seven o’clock,” she corrected.

She flopped back down, studying her uncooperative bedfellow.  _ I probably shouldn’t push him too far, or our first fight will be over the fact that I tormented him for no other reason than my own amusement. _ Still, she couldn’t resist one more pinch to his tightly muscled waist. The fact that Draco was not a morning person was driven home by the fact that even the combination of her teasing touches and his impressive morning wood couldn’t keep him awake. Eventually she gave up, pressing a kiss to his pillow-marked cheek and donning his Quidditch jersey before leaving for her own rooms.

The manor had been communicating with Trinket, it seemed. The curtains in the outer room were drawn to let in the morning sun, clothing was laid out in her dressing room, and there was a fragrant, steaming bath drawn for her. Hermione enjoyed a soak in the tub but wasted no time in preparing for the new day. Soon she was dried and slipping into delicate underthings and an elegant floral day dress with a wide green satin sash. She was just stepping into the coordinating green heels when a loud knock resounded from the direction of her bedroom door.  _ The last time that happened _ , she thought,  _ was when- . . . _ She shook away that particular memory. “I’m coming,” she called as she went through the bedroom to the door.

It was Draco. He must have been unable to fall back asleep after her departure from the House bed, because it was obvious he’d been to his rooms for a shower as well. He lounged against her doorframe in a dark grey flannel suit, starched white shirt, and dark green silk tie. A subdued paisley handkerchief peeked from his breast pocket, completing the overall swoon-worthy effect. Hermione may have drooled a little. He seemed to notice, because his expression turned smug.

She dialed back her admiration and glanced at the nearest timepiece. “It’s only eight o’clock, Draco. I thought you wanted to sleep in.”

He remained where he was as he ran his eyes over her figure. “A little witch told me daylight was burning, and then she left me all alone in our bed.” He pouted.

It was Hermione’s turn to smile. “Did you get  _ lonely _ , Draco?” She blushed faintly under his admiring gaze, glad to be wearing the lovely gown. Its wide, somewhat low neckline and off-the-shoulder capped sleeves left plenty of bare skin visible to his roaming eyes. She turned and motioned for him to follow her. When he didn’t she looked over her shoulder. “Aren’t you coming in?”

A shade of cunning seemed to pass over his handsome face but then it was gone, replaced by a look of boyish innocence. “I was waiting for a formal invitation.”

A previous conversation came to mind, one in which she’d learned her husbands were forbidden to enter her rooms. Had that changed now they were married?  _ Why on earth does he want a formal invitation in his own home? _ She opened her mouth to ask just that but was instantly distracted by the glory of Draco Malfoy as he aimed a slow, knickers-dropping smirk directly at her. She swallowed thickly. “Won’t you come in?”

That same sly expression crossed his features again. “I will. Thank you.” He followed her, looking around the space curiously. “I’ve never actually been in here before.”

“Would you like a tour?” She laughed to think he hadn’t been in a room of his own house.

Draco shook his head and took her small hand in his. “Let’s see how well I navigate on my own. He drew her across the large space to the French windows and then out onto the balcony, where he stood behind her, his fingers rubbing along her bare arms. “This must be where you met your fiancé for that early-morning assignation.”

The reference to his visit on the flying carpet caused her to grin with delight even as she argued, “That was hardly an assignation, Draco! There was a ward separating us the entire time!”

He gave her a disappointed look. “That’s not how I remember it at all, sweetheart. You stood,” he moved her to stand at the rail of the balcony, running his hands up to her bare shoulders, “right about here. You wore a blue  negligee that showed just a hint of every one of my favorite parts of you. At the end you promised to avail yourself of my services at breakfast.” He skated his forefingers along the neckline of her dress until they met in the middle, caressing the slight swells of her breasts. “I was so turned on I almost had to crash-land the flying carpet.”

Hermione leaned into his touch, fighting to keep her eyes from crossing in pleasure.  _ It’s never going to be enough _ , she thought with a spine-tingling shiver.  _ I’m going to crave my husbands constantly until . . . _ She forced her thoughts in another direction when the mental image of that tiny blond curly-haired witch came once again to mind. “I like your idea of a tour. Let’s keep going.”

He pulled her back through her bedroom, ignoring the outer space in favor of her dressing room. From there he walked to the bathroom. “And this must be where you soaked your lovely body in scented oil and water before your rune ceremonies.” He stepped behind her, pushing his face into her curls and pulling her against him. “I will never forget the way you smelled that second night, little witch.” Now his hands tickled down her arms, across her stomach, and up to cup her breasts. “I ran my nose from your pretty mouth all the way down to your sweet cunt, memorizing the scent of you.”

Hermione might have been leaning back into Draco’s chest and pushing into his touch, but her wondrous brain was already three steps ahead in this walking tour of her personal living space.  _ Walking tour, my sainted Aunt Gert! This is a seduction game!  _ It was a game she decided to win. “You should see my dressing room.”

Draco needed no further invitation. He pushed her into the dressing room from behind, his hands still attached to her breasts. Their pace was somewhat hampered by the fact that he was pressed flush against her back while she tried to wiggle her hips against his groin just enough to make him groan as they walked. They stopped in front of the wall of closet doors. He seemed lost for words; although he quickly found her neck and began nipping and sucking at it like a professional torturer.

When a rush of wetness flooded her knickers she fought back against the fog of lust and decided to hijack the tour. Escaping his clutches, she spun on her heel and backed away from him until she stood against the wall, her hand resting on a door handle. “This is the room where I dress for my husbands,” she offered with a straight face. “I come in from my shower or bath and let my robe fall to the floor, and then I go through this door to pick out a set of underthings.” She opened the door and stepped back into the closet, beckoning for him to follow.

He all but fell in to the small space, so quickly did he obey her summons.

She continued, “I have so many now that I had to set up an elaborate subcategorized organizational system. See?” She opened different drawers and pulled out examples of each division as she rattled off, “Silk on the left and lace on the right; then a drawer each for French, ouvert, thong, and _crotchless_.” She watched with satisfaction as her young husband’s mouth dropped open and his eyes glazed over. When he stretched a hand toward a half-opened drawer she snapped it shut. “Those are the _really_ naughty ones.”

“Hermione . . . sweetheart . . . little witch,” he moaned as he reached for a scrap of black lace that dangled from her forefinger. “Oh,  _ Princess _ .”

She pretended not to notice, whipping the examples of her subcategories back into their designated storage spots. “And those are just the knickers, Draco! Just look what I’ve done with all the bras and corsets.” She smiled brightly, opening one drawer to display an example of her tidiness. When he reached a trembling hand toward the particularly sexy basque on display she quickly closed it.

“It’s a shame, really,” she said in a thoughtful tone, “because if I’d known you were coming, we could have picked out my underthings for today together.” At a choked sound from him she quickly ducked her head to hide the evil grin plastered across her face. “Would you like to see what I’m wearing, Draco?”

Two seconds: that’s all it took for Hermione to be whirled around and restrained against the wall of the large lingerie closet by two large, pale, shapely hands. It took an additional three seconds for Draco to navigate the long, full skirts and petticoat of her gown and hoist them up around her waist. Then he knelt in front of her and stared covetously at the barely-there white lace ouvert knickers.

“Good, sweet Mother of . . . ” He dragged his eyes away for a split second to meet hers.

“Don’t pass out quite yet, Draco,” she urged, a victorious gleam in her eye, “you haven’t seen the matching strapless demi-bra.”

There was no time to recalculate her next move when her husband skipped the next several steps she’d anticipated in their game. Suddenly he was standing and lifting her up off her feet, pinning her in place with his hips and one arm supporting her arse. Hands tugged at her knickers, at his belt and trouser fastenings, and several loud rips were heard. He covered her mouth with his, pushing his tongue between her lips at the same moment he entered her in one hard thrust.

Sex with a wild-eyed Draco Malfoy was beyond good; sex of that nature in a lingerie closet was even better; but said sex in said closet  _ up against the wall _ was the best of all. It was comprised of his deep, primal grunts of need and her slightly gentler cries of want; of her ankles crossed at the small of his back, and his hand rhythmically squeezing her bum. It was hard and fast and unbelievably rough, and when they had both found release and crumpled to the closet floor in each other’s arms, Hermione decided that, really, they both should be declared the winners.

“Now I’m going to need to shower,” she complained against the sweaty skin of his neck. She ran her tongue over it experimentally, savoring the taste of their effort and success.

“Nonsense.” Draco picked her up and staggered out of the closet, tripping over his fallen trousers. When he’d pulled them back up to his lean hips he walked through the dressing room to the bedroom, where he threw her down onto her bed. “We’re not done with our tour,” he argued with a grin. “We haven’t done the bedroom yet.”

Later, after he’d painstakingly studied the exquisite cut and detail of her white lace demi-bra and proved that sex with Draco Malfoy in her fairytale princess bed was every bit as amazing as sex in her lingerie closet, they laid down their heads on one pillow and talked in quiet tones.

“Lucius says this compulsion to have constant sex has to do with the covenant,” Hermione murmured contentedly.

Draco, whose forehead rested against hers, gave a silent breath of laughter. “Let Lu speak for himself. I’m a nineteen-year-old wizard; I’m  _ expected _ to want sex all the time.” He pulled away and looked speculatively at her with drowsy eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take a short nap?”

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I could do that.” Inwardly she was agreeing with the idea; a nap sounded  _ heavenly _ . She may have risen early that morning, but she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and was beginning to feel the effects of their rigorous activities.

Hands caught her wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. “No poking or tickling.”

Eyes falling shut, she smiled and snuggled down into their shared pillow. “Witch’s honor. Now be quiet and go to sleep.”

They slept soundly. Hermione dreamed of her handsome younger husband, of the Yule Ball, and of dancing in his arms. She awoke several hours later to find they had twisted around each other in a tangle of limbs, and that Draco’s face was pushed firmly between her breasts. He was mostly clothed still, having been far more interested in divesting her of her garments before their two urgent couplings. She smoothed down his shirt collar and combed her fingers through his soft platinum hair, only pulling away when she couldn’t ignore her full bladder any longer.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled against the small plump curve of feminine flesh, tightening his arms around her waist.

“Oof! Let go, Draco! I have to pee.” She pushed against his hold and finally extricated herself, slipping from the bed.

He relinquished his grip with a sigh and must have noticed the disparity in their state of dress because he said plaintively, “Wizard’s clothing has too many buttons. I’m still  _ dressed _ .”

“I noticed that. It hardly seems fair that only one of us is naked.” She paused beside him long enough to flick his ear.

His mouth stretched in a sinfully slow smirk. “I didn’t hear you complaining about it earlier.”

Hermione turned toward the dressing room door, glorying in her new confidence. She threw a saucy grin over her shoulder. “No, I didn’t. But in the future, if you decide to wear trousers to  _ my  _ bed I’d much prefer the ones from your Quidditch uniform.”

As she made her way to her bathroom she cleared the brightly colored storm path leading to her bed: bra, torn knickers, petticoat, dress, and heels. All should have been placed neatly in the last closet per her agreement with Trinket, which stated that Hermione was not allowed to interfere with Beetle’s laundry duties  _ on pain of death _ . Exactly  _ whose _ death hadn’t needed to be specified. There had been a clause added to the effect that laundry must be accrued daily.

She sighed, torn between the necessity of the rule and the utter impracticality of it. Finally she came to a compromise of sorts and chucked the Quidditch jersey she’d worn last night into the hamper. Then she mended her knickers with a well-aimed Reparo and laid out her former outfit on one of the dressing room couches.  _ One makeshift nightdress can count as today’s laundry _ , she thought.  _ I’m recycling all of this just as soon as I scrub the reek of sex off me. _

She went into full efficiency mode this time and was back in her pre-Draco state within half an hour, only to find him in the same sexy, rumpled, half-dressed state and sprawled out across her bed.

He leaned back across the bank of pillows, hands tucked behind his head. “I could get used to this bed.”

Hermione secretly agreed with that sentiment. She could certainly accustom herself to the sight of a Malfoy wizard in her beautiful room, especially one reclining on her frilly covers in such a masculine way; somehow it made everything more real. She picked up his suit coat, which had ended up draped over her bedside candelabra, and turned it right-side out. “I don’t know; you’re a bit untidy. I might not invite you back again.”

He smirked and opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it. Instead he slid from the bed and took the coat she was holding out to him.

The expression reminded her of that sly look he’d first worn when he’d asked for a formal invitation to enter her room. “What?”

The cunning look was immediately replaced with one of complete innocence. “I was just thinking of how much I’d like to be seen with you in that dress. You look radiant today.”

She fought past her impending swoon at those romantic words, intent on extracting the real reason from him. Just then her stomach gave a frightening growl.

Draco seemed to seize on the distraction with relief. “Great Merlin, that sounds positively dangerous. Perhaps we should feed that monster, just to be on the safe side.”

“Shall we sneak down to the kitchens?” She smiled in delight at their ongoing game of repeating past conversations.

“Lunch with me in Diagon Alley instead, little witch.”

The impulsive suggestion caused her to look up at him in wide-mouthed shock. The little she did know about the wizarding public’s love affair with her new family and the fact that her elder husband had sneaked into the Ministry of Magic on a Sunday morning in order to avoid it seemed to raise rather large red flags. “Errrrrr . . . what? Can we just do that?”

“We can do whatever we like, sweetheart.” He leaned down to press a row of kisses onto her bare shoulder. “Come with me to Diagon Alley.”

Within her the covenant pricked up its metaphorical ears as if waiting for her reply. Hermione struggled to ignore the sensation of Draco’s soft, wet lips and tongue on her skin. “Shouldn’t we wait for Lucius?” It didn’t seem likely that her elder husband would approve of this idea at all. Then again, Lucius was slightly overprotective.  _ And possessive. Don’t forget possessive. He’ll want to be with us for our first public outing. _ The covenant began purring its approval. Oh, that was an excellent and very logical argument! She voiced it aloud to Draco.

“I’ll send him a message and he can meet us there,” he argued persuasively, running his fingers lightly around the edge of her choker. “Say yes.” He seemed particularly fascinated by the large love bite Lucius had left just below the necklace’s lower edge where her neck and shoulder joined. “I like this.”

Visions of Draco’s fanatical admirers and their reactions to seeing him in close proximity came to mind. “I thought you  _ hated _ public places. You said Hogwarts was your safe place, and that you avoided crowds at all costs.” She removed his fingers from the bruised skin in an attempt to regain his attention.

“I can’t hide for the rest of my life. Besides, I’m a married man now.” Draco turned the full power of his beautiful eyes on her, then, and Hermione was lost in their quicksilver depths. “I want to take you out and be seen with you, Princess. I want every witch and wizard who happens to be in Diagon Alley today to see Draco Malfoy with his beautiful Wife, and I want to feast on their jealousy.”

Her eyebrow twitched as she fought to bite back her smirk.  _ Sweet Circe, but he’s good. _ “Now you’re just being melodramatic.”  _ Do go on. _

“Hermione, it’s only lunch, and if you insist we can take the guards with us. We can Disapparate immediately if you still feel it’s a bad idea.” He paired his words with a kiss obviously designed to erase her qualms, but he succeeded in doing far more than that: he kissed her until she forgot the entire world around them, swallowing her soft sounds of pleasure as though they were an addictive substance.

Later she would blame her dereliction of logic on lack of oxygen and a temporary, Draco-induced hypnotic state. For now, though, she could only nod and smile breathlessly. Had anyone  _ ever _ been able to deny Draco Malfoy  _ anything _ ? “Alright. Summon the guards and send a message to Lucius. But I  _ refuse  _ to use Side-Along and I’m hiding this mark on my neck; I look like I’ve been snogged by a hippogriff.” The covenant stopped purring and seemed to sit up watchfully, but Hermione barely noticed in her altered state of awareness. She floated into her dressing room and stood in front of the nearest mirror, aiming her wand at the kiss-shaped bruise on the inner edge of her shoulder.

Draco wandered in and stood behind her, restoring his rumpled clothes to their original crisp state with a quick grooming charm. He frowned his disapproval over her shoulder in the mirror. “You’re quite sure you have to hide this? I like it.”

“Of course you do.” She snorted indelicately and performed the Glamour charm. “Because you’re a  _ cave wizard _ . There.” Satisfied with her altered appearance, she caught her husband’s gaze. “I’ve done  _ my _ part; have you done yours?”

“You wound me, little witch; I’m hurt you even asked.” He gave her an anticipatory grin and stole a wicked kiss. “Apparate to the designated spot outside Gringott’s; it’ll be the quietest on a Sunday.” At her nod of agreement he kissed her once more and turned on his heel, Apparating with a strong but quiet  _ crack. _

She glanced at her reflection once more and grinned.  _ Watch out, wizarding England: here comes Hermione Malfoy. _ Out of the corner of her eye Hermione caught sight of the disheveled state of her bedroom. Never having been the sort of witch to leave a mess for someone else to clean she decided to set it rights. During those few seconds’ worth of work she allowed herself a brief flight of imagination, in which she and her husbands found a secluded spot in Diagon Alley and indulged in a passionate embrace.

_ Only, that won’t happen,  _ she corrected as she made her bed with a competent flick of her wand,  _ because we’ll have Crabbes and Goyles with us _ . That crushing realization sent her brain running along a related path.  _ How did Draco have time to contact Lucius and summon the guards, and where are they? _ She shrugged her shoulders and straightened the tapestry hanging above the headboard of her bed.  _ Maybe he arranged for them to meet us there. He IS a superior wizard, after all.  _

The covenant sent a small wave of some indefinable emotion washing over the surface of Hermione’s awareness. It wasn’t panic, per se, but it was  _ something _ .  _ I wonder what that’s all about _ , she thought. Then she moved her feet in the familiar turn of Apparition and turned her concentration to Diagon Alley, the Gringotts’ Apparition spot, and Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the incredibly kind notes on the past few chapters. I truly love AO3 and its uniquely positive vibe.
> 
> I wish each of you warmth and wellness and time for the pursuit of creative endeavors. Mwah!
> 
> -G- (Glitterally)


	78. Sunday Mid-morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader, I have been remiss in my posting duty. My wonky wrist has been hurting like a you-know-what, and I have been reading fanfic on this site instead of caring for the lovely readers of my big silly baby. Shame on me! It may ease your troubled heart to know I have sought out and subsequently received my consequence at the firm hand of my darling Mr G -- in fact, Dear Reader, I find myself having to stand while I post this update.
> 
> BW has had many reads (at the time I removed it from FF, over 1.5 million!) but I count the AO3 readership as best of the best. Thank you for your kudos and comments -- no matter how old the story, posted thoughts and affirmations are a remarkable encouragement to continue fanfic endeavors.
> 
> Love to all from the Great North (where it's currently a balmy yet drizzly 36F),
> 
> -G- (Glitterally, one half of the Bespoke Affinity)
> 
> Mwah!

_ The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. _

Alpha Reader and Final Beta: CoquetteKitten

Sunday mid-morning

  
  


Hermione arrived to find Diagon Alley awash in spring sunlight and soft breezes. The Apparition point at the far end of Gringotts was empty except for Draco, who was waiting for her with thinly veiled impatience. He was tapping the toe of one elegant Balmoral brogue against the cobblestones and had his hands shoved into his suit-trouser pockets. He gave a visible sigh of relief at her arrival. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, there you are. I was beginning to think you’d had a better offer.”

She stepped into his outstretched arms with a good-natured roll of her eyes, secretly admiring the view of her younger husband in this new environment. The soft sunlight transformed his carefully combed platinum hair into a halo, the angelic effect promptly ruined when the gentle wind ruffled it over his quicksilver eyes. 

“I stopped to tidy my room.  _ Someone _ tore it apart at the seams.” The faint sounds of a bustling Sunday crowd tinged the edges of this place, but it was far enough away to give the illusion of complete privacy. She hummed her approval when Draco ran his hands down the length of her bare arms in a light, ticklish touch.

His trademark solemn-happy expression gave way to a smug smirk. “You certainly weren’t complaining at the time.” He rubbed his thumbs over the wide satin ribbon decorating the waistline of her frock.

_ That’s because I was a bit distracted.  _ She changed her original assessment; no angel could have worn such a devilish grin nor looked so self-assured. Her mouth twitched, and she poked his side to divert his attention from the smile she couldn’t quite bite back. “Just for that I’m not inviting you back to my room any time soon.”

“Oh,  _ really _ .” 

Draco turned his attention downward, tracing his finger along the low neckline of her dress, but not before she saw the same nuance of clever cunning pass over his handsome features. For some reason the phrase  _ mischief managed _ came to mind and she was avidly pursuing that train of thought when it was violently derailed by another: something wasn’t quite right. She glanced around, cataloguing their environment. “Draco, where are the guards?”

“Hmmmmm?” He trailed a hand southward over the small curve of one breast and leaned low, applying his talented mouth to the skin of her neck. “ _ Merlin _ , but you smell wonderful.”

“The guards. You  _ did _ summon them didn’t you?” She caught his hand in hers, resisting the urge to shiver as she removed it from her chest. 

He repeated the action with his other hand, lifted his head so they were eye to eye, and treated her to one of his happy-solemn almost-smiles. “I have no intention of calling for them until I’ve kissed my beautiful Wife with abandon in Diagon Alley.” 

“Oh, for the love of-” She batted his wandering hands away from her torso. “That would have been romantic had you not been trying to  _ grope _ me at the same time. Summon the gua- Mmmmmm!”

Draco had shifted slightly and softly pressed his lips to hers, effectively silencing her. The chaste kiss quickly morphed into something far more incendiary involving tongues and questing hands, and when Hermione managed to break away finally she said with a breathy laugh, “ _ Summon _ them.”

“Is that a direct order?” Draco held her in a smoldering gaze and backed her up until she was pressed against the marble exterior of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. “I should warn you I have the strongest predilection for bossy little witches.” He returned his attention to her neck and slowly slid his hands down her back to grasp her backside. “I find them . . . ”  _ kiss _ “Completely . . . ”  _ nip _ “Irresistible.” _ kiss. _

She felt the covenant’s resonant purr deep within her but couldn’t tell whether it was because of her connection with Draco or the fact that she was attempting to respect Lucius’ concern for her safety.

There was a delicious thrum deep in her gut and a heavy fog of lust creeping over her mind. Hermione wriggled out of his arms, swatting his hands away briskly. “So help me, Draco; knock it off!”  _ I need to keep away from you long enough to think properl _ y! She took several quick steps away from him. “You told me you summoned them before we left the manor.”

He was  _ pouting _ . “I never said  _ any _ such thing. I wanted to be alone with you before this outing became a circus tour.” He managed to wrap his long arms around her, effectively trapping her once more against the building to murmur against the shell of her ear, “Please say you’ll let me have you all to myself, if only for five minutes. Then we’ll join the circus and follow all the rules.”

Hermione tried unsuccessfully to escape, willing her body to ignore the sensation of his warm, wet mouth moving against that sensitive flesh. She quickly lost track of that goal when his hand crept between them to rub one runed nipple. “Draco!” She hissed, writhing in startled pleasure. “No- Ooooooh,  _ Merlin _ . . . nnngh . . . Lucius isn’t . . . do that again . . . he isn’t going to . . . gods, yes . . . ”  _ Five minutes sounds a bit short. Maybe ten . . . _

Fortunately the elder Malfoy’s name wasn’t taken in vain. After groaning against her neck Draco backed away from her with a sigh. “Very well.” He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his trousers with a wince, frustration written all over his handsome face. “But for the record that was only  _ two  _ minutes.”

Hermione inhaled deeply as she smoothed her hands over the rumpled bodice of her dress. “Yes, well; since we both seem to excel at time management it’s a good thing we stopped early.” She glanced around the empty Apparition spot. “Circe only knows what we could have accomplished given the full five.”  _ Our first child could have been conceived in plain sight up against the wall of the bank. We could have named him Knut. _

Trying to think of  _ anything _ else other than the pulse of desire still beating in her veins she watched closely as Draco unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pushed it up along with that of his suit jacket. With a look of intense concentration he pressed the tip of his wand to a spot on the inside of his forearm and muttered an incantation. When he was done he gave her a sulky look. 

“Prepare for the circus.”

His action had sent a flood of unpleasant memories washing over her, all having to do with a certain Dark Mark and its power, and her former foggy state cleared rapidly. Surely there was a reasonable explanation, though! “Draco,” she croaked feebly, “did you just . . . Is that . . . ”

He glanced down at her as he righted his sleeves. He must have realized where her brain had traveled because he shook his head and said reassuringly, “Hermione, sweetheart, it’s  _ nothing _ like that. It’s how the ancient Houses have always communicated with their guard families. Here, have a look.” He paused and pushed his left sleeve back up again. “See? There’s no mark on my arm. It’s innocent blood magic.”

She tentatively touched a finger to the spot he’d indicated. His skin was warm and stretched taut over a framework of elegant bone, flexing tendons, and lean muscle, and it was blessedly unmarked. “But what you just did: it’s how Vol-”

Draco stopped her with a stern shake of his head and an even sterner tone. “He must  _ not _ be named.” He softened the remonstrance by taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips, and his explanation was spoken against the back of her hand in the semblance of a series of kisses. “That monster tricked the Twenty-Eight and enslaved the covenants. He perverted every ancient Pureblood ritual and rite. But before  _ any _ of that he destroyed the line of Gaunt and its covenant. He joined the lowest ranks of the weeded and lost all right to a name that day.”

Such simple words, and yet so rife with meaning and delivered as yet another hairpin turn in this whiplash Pureblood education! But through the fog of lust, past that thrill of fear, and now in the face of this lightning bolt of indirect information the curly-haired Wife maintained her course. Had she been anyone else other than Hermione Malfoy  née Granger, the Brightest Witch of the Age, her mind would have undoubtedly swerved away from this new metaphorical road hazard. Instead her sleek, powerful brain began charting alternate routes and marking maps of potential exploration. “Sweet mother of magic, you’re saying . . . but then that means . . . oh, wise and wonderful  _ Merlin _ . . . ” With sultry eyes she gazed up at her Pureblooded husband and said in a throaty voice, “Let’s go home right now, to the library. I want to know  _ everything _ .  _ Research _ with me, Draco.”

He groaned and pulled her into his arms almost roughly, tugging her off-the-shoulder sleeves even lower. “I’ve always dreamed of you saying that to me. Tell me you’ll sit on my lap and study topless, little witch.” The fitted bodice wasn’t cooperating and now he was searching for the fastenings.

Hermione pulled Draco down for a hungry kiss, a small portion of her mind wondering how long it would take for him to remember the tiny zipper running down her left side. “Only if you’ll be my research assistant and take dictation.” She pushed her smaller body into his, desperate to relieve the ache growing between her legs.

Draco exhibited his talent for multitasking, dominating the kiss while walking them back to the wall of the bank. When she was pinned against it once more he began gathering her long voluminous skirts with his hands, slowly working them higher. “Only if you’ll wear your rune shields.”

With the dexterity inherent to a sex-crazed teenager she fought past the buttons of his suit coat and trouser fastenings, working one small hand down into his boxers. “Wear your Quidditch uniform?”

“Deal.” He bit down on her lower lip and sucked it into his mouth with a growl when her hand wrapped around his erection, but just as that piece of anatomy (and the rest of all hell) was about to break loose a familiar Patronus appeared, interrupting their wild embrace. 

As the spectral bear lumbered toward them Gore Goyle’s deep voice boomed, “The Ministry seems to be running a training exercise; there are anti-Apparition wards in place around Diagon Alley at the moment. Exit by way of the Cauldron and return to the manor at once.”

Later Hermione would recognize the interruption as providential, but in that very moment she could have hexed Gore Goyle repeatedly and without mercy. She released her grip on her husband’s hard cock with a scowl.  _ Whose bright idea was it to summon the guards, anyway? Errrrrr, that’s somewhat ironic. _ Effectively diverted from her most recent bout of passion she replayed the message mentally and frowned, effectively breaking the liplock Draco was trying to maintain.

Draco made a pathetic whimpering sound. “Enter the bloody circus,” he muttered bitterly. “I’m finally married to the witch of my dreams but has  _ anything _ changed? If my aching blue balls are any indication, then  _ no _ ; not a fucking  _ thing _ has changed.” He banged his forehead against the wall beside her head with a quiet  _ thud _ . 

“Obviously you’re still intent on incurring brain damage,” she joked, trying to ignore the way her body instantly responded to such coarse language being uttered in Draco’s cultured tones. And when he made another noise of misery near her ear she kissed his cheek and pushed him away slightly with a sigh. “We were going to stop anyway, Draco. We were never going to have sex against the wall of Gringotts, even in a deserted spot. Did you—Did you  _ actually _ just stomp your foot?” 

He was pouting spectacularly, looking for all the world like a little boy denied his favorite candy. The fact that her clever, handsome young husband was, in effect, having a tantrum over being denied sex in a public place sent her into a bout of uncontrollable laughter. She laughed until she cried, flopping noodle-limbed against him. He supported her stiffly at first, but eventually the vibrations of his own soft, husky laughter traveled from his chest into her body and his embrace became tender. When at last she was done and had wiped her eyes, she smiled up at him. “It’s time to go home. Lucius will have a fit when he finds out we were here alone. He told me I wasn’t to go anywhere without the guards.”

“But we were going to have lunch here! There’s a new restaurant that opened after Christmas in the reclaimed portion of Knockturn Alley, of which Lucius has spoken very highly. I’ve been dreaming of taking you there for  _ months _ .” He sighed heavily. “I suppose you’re right.” His woeful expression morphed into an amusing combination of calculation, humor, and hope. “Will we have sex at  _ home _ ?” 

She snorted indelicately even as she tried to rub her slender thighs together. “There’ll be no more negotiating until  _ after _ lunch  _ at home _ . I’m suddenly hungrier than ever.” As if to lend credibility to the statement her stomach growled loudly. “Let’s go.”

Draco gave a reluctant nod and sighed. “Very well.” 

“I’ll just send a Patronus to Lucius to let him know what’s going on.” Hermione tugged her hand free of her husband’s and fished for her wand in her dress pocket.

“Absolutely  _ not _ .” He looked positively ill at that suggestion. “I do  _ not _ need to check in with Lucius as though I were five years old. I’m a grown wizard! Besides,” he added quickly when she opened her mouth to argue, “If you care for me at all, wait and tell him later. He’ll want to swoop in and rescue us, and he’s done that far too many times in my life; it’s begun to feel . . .  _ emasculating _ .” And when she hesitated he implored, “Please, sweetheart.” 

Hermione felt her irritation drain marginally as she realized the extent of both Draco’s sheltered life and his elder brother’s overprotectiveness. She pictured Lucius in full defensive mode, positively terrified for a loved one’s safety without real cause.  _ Draco’s lived behind wards and guards all his life and he just wants to be a regular wizard; he just doesn’t always know how to do it. He’s bound to be a bit of an idiot in public situations. _ _ Oh, Draco. _ “Being rescued doesn’t make you weak; it means you have an ally and the worst is over.” 

The covenant had been listening to their conversation in an amused sort of way, with one metaphorical eye lazily opened and one metaphorical ear pricked. The current situation hadn’t sent it into any semblance of panic or even caution, and finally she decided Draco might be right.  _ He knows Lucius far better than I do _ . _ But if this turns out to be another case of master manipulation I’ll give him a concussion he’ll never forget. _

Gritting her teeth she continued, “Despite my better judgment we won’t contact Lucius, but you’re going to do exactly as I say.”  _ I cannot believe I just agreed to that.  _

Draco nodded with eager relief. “Absolutely, little witch. You’re in charge from here on out.”

“Well then,” she smirked, taking in the details of her husband’s appearance, “for starters you can zip your trousers and wipe that lip gloss off your face.” Within her the covenant gave the abstract equivalent of a chuckle, causing the Wife to wonder if it also had difficulty denying the younger Malfoy wizard. 

They walked in a sweet embrace of arms from the secluded Apparition spot, along the quiet side alley of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and straight into the noisy, colorful mayhem that was Diagon Alley. Draco paused after only a few feet, tugging her to a stop just outside Madam Malkin’s shop. She looked up in inquiry, surprised to see a look of utter chagrin on his pale face. 

“What’s wrong, Draco?”

He glanced around uneasily and pulled her closer to the shop window, leaning into the shade provided by the awning. “I’d forgotten school’s out for the year.”

“And?” The fact that his hand curled innocently over her shoulder without straying inappropriately spoke of a considerable level of concern, Hermione decided.

“It’s . . . complicated,” he hedged.

She jerked impatiently at his grip on her hand just as her stomach rumbled again. “I think you’ll find I  _ like _ complicated things. Now spit it out before my stomach devours me whole.”

Draco’s expression shifted to a grimace. “There’ll be girls  _ everywhere _ .” He looked around again in that same nervous way. “And they aren’t required to  _ behave _ outside Hogwarts.”

Comprehension illuminated her prodigious brain like a lightning bolt -- a very  _ amusing _ lightning bolt. “That’s right,” she snickered, “because you’re  _ EBC _ .”

“It’s not funny, little witch. Some of the more fanatical ones are  _ terrifying _ .”

Hermione made an exasperated noise. “Well, you should have thought of that before you insisted on coming here in the first place, you big idiot. Whatever happened to the whole ‘I can’t hide for the rest of my life’ and ‘I’m a grown wizard’? Not only did you decide  _ not _ to bring the circus, you  _ forgot  _ there’d be women here and  _ assumed _ we’d be able to traipse around unnoticed. Honestly! I thought you snakes were supposed to be clever!”

Now he looked hurt. “I  _ am _ clever, but it’s a curse to be born a Malfoy and doubly so to be a young handsome one.”

“In about thirty seconds I’m going to show exactly how clever  _ I _ am with a well-aimed hex. Now stop being such a drama queen and let’s leave before your fanwitches find you.” Hermione’s former exasperation returned, only this time it was tempered by amusement regarding both her husband’s bout of flightiness and the ensuing scenario.  _ I’ll show you cursed. I’ll show you hexed Malfoy bits and pieces accompanied by weeping and gnashing of handsome teeth. _ She yanked the hand he had entwined with hers and began dragging him in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. “Come  _ on _ ; the sooner we get there, the sooner we can go home and  _ I _ can eat.” When he balked she added cunningly, “And  _ you _ can have sex.”

Those last words lit a fire under Draco and suddenly he was escorting her with his usual polished confidence along the cobbled street. They hadn’t even gone the entire length of Madam Malkin’s, though, when he jerked her unceremoniously behind a vendor’s cart filled with fresh-cut flowers of every variety.

“Wha-” Her yelp was cut off by a large, pale hand, which clamped over her mouth firmly. 

“Sweet Circe, it’s one of  _ them _ !” He was looking around the corner of the cart between cascading bouquets, a fearful look in his eyes. “And where there’s one there’s bound to be more. They travel in  _ packs _ .” He tapped the top of her head with his wand and urgently murmured a Disillusionment charm. 

Pulling his hand from her mouth she looked up at him skeptically. “Is that really necessary?” 

“Ssssshhhhh,” he hissed. “Wait, you’re not-”

The distinct sensation of that charm being performed by someone else had been absent.  _ That’s odd; it’s a fairly easy skill. _ She pulled out her own wand and performed it on her husband. Nothing happened. “Draco, you  _ do  _ realize what this means.”

He looked down at her with dismay and pushed his tousled hair from his eyes. “Whatever wards have been put up are restricting the use of magic as well. It means . . .”

“It means you’re screwed, EBC.” Hermione let out a breath of laughter and stepped away from him. “Well, good luck. I’ll see you back at the ma- ooof!” She was hauled back abruptly and held tightly against his broad chest. 

“Hermione, we cannot go out there for several reasons, not the least of which involves me being attacked by rabid witches and probably stripped of my clothes!” Somehow Draco managed to make his barely audible whisper sound aggrieved.

She gave him a skeptical look and peered around the flower cart, and what she saw made her blood boil. There, standing in the street with a gaggle of other witches in their early twenties, was the brazen witch from their wedding reception queue who had wanted the rose in Draco’s hand! She was sure of it! Hermione’s vision became tinted with red at the thought of another witch even  _ contemplating _ touching her husband.  _ And he’s terrified of her. _ _ I’ll show HER terrified! _ _ I’ll hex that fatuous, simpering gawk off her face and- _ Her inner tirade came to an abrupt halt as she realized there would be no satisfying use of magic for retribution.  _ Or I could just punch her lights out. _

Hermione simultaneously savored that option and took stock of the situation. The witch was part of an organized outing, obviously; at least twenty young women thronged the breadth of Diagon Alley, each wearing a gorgeous ruffly silver-blue rose in her hair.  _ MY roses.  _ In the midst of them was . . .  _ Oh, for the love of all things magical . . . _ In the midst of them was a tall banner of sorts emblazoned with a likeness of Draco’s profile and the words  _ Ipsa vita est Draco _ .

_ Sweet Circe, I called it before I had any idea how true it all was.  _ “Really? ‘We live for Draco’? Who are these fanatics?”

“Fanwitches,” Draco groaned. He pulled her further behind the cart. “They’ve been multiplying exponentially since the end of the war.”

She sighed again, this time heavily. First her magic had been nullified and now her husband was in danger of being taken down by a pack of witches in heat.  _ AND they’re wearing my roses! _ Her mind whirred at breakneck speed for two full seconds before she turned back to her young husband with a scowl. “Stay here, and for Merlin’s sake keep your head down. Your hair is probably a homing device for these . . . these  _ strumpets _ .”

As Hermione made her way to where the cart’s owner stood at the far end she rapidly assessed its inventory. It was a wild glory of cultivated flowers standing in water buckets but Hermione’s eye was drawn to the far end, where there were roses of such beauty they could only have originated in one place. The irony of the plan that was even now forming in her head caused her to smirk.  _ Lucius to the rescue indeed! _ After a hurried and, in her opinion, somewhat  _ flirtatious _ conversation (that ended with her receiving a complimentary bouquet of Bespoke roses) with the elderly vendor she returned to her husband.

“I asked the wizard who owns this cart if he wouldn’t mind pushing it past those floozies with us hiding here behind all these flowers-” she began, only to be interrupted enthusiastically.

“That’s brilliant, little witch! We’ll be out of here in no time and-”

“However,” she continued, shushing him with a stern look, “his license only extends from the corner of Knockturn and Diagon to here. That means we can only escape by retreating further from the exit at this point.”

Hermione could practically  _ see _ the wheels turning in Draco’s head _. _ Briefly she wondered if she should be suspicious. When he answered, though, his handsome face was set in a look of such thoughtful innocence that she dismissed the idea.

“A strategic retreat might be best at this point,” he agreed and then quickly slipped to speak to the vendor himself. When he returned his expression was decidedly smug. “All set, then; we’ll just walk right out under their noses.”

They made it without incident back the short distance they’d already come and then diagonally across the thoroughfare to the point where the newly reclaimed Knockturn Alley joined Diagon. Hermione had followed its redevelopment in  _ The Prophet _ and now took in as many details as she could under the circumstances. The gleaming storefronts advertised  _ legal _ goods, the murky corners were filled with brightly painted vendors’ carts, and what people she could see walking to and fro in the formerly foreboding venue of all things dark all bore the air of upstanding citizens.

At the far side of the intersection the old wizard gave Hermione a wink and shook Draco’s hand, asking the younger Malfoy to convey the admiration of the entire Herbological community to his ‘father’. At that word Draco winced but nodded politely.

“I’ll be sure to tell  _ Lucius _ ; and thank you very much for your help.” He turned to Hermione smoothly, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Shall we make our escape, sweetheart? Hold on to your bouquet.”

Without warning Hermione was whisked through a quickly opened doorway into a quiet, dimly lit space. When her eyes adjusted to the subdued lighting she realized they were in a restaurant. She looked up at Draco in cynical bewilderment. “What are we doing in here?”

“We need to lay low for a while, little witch,” he argued earnestly, discreetly manhandling her toward where the  maître d'hôtel hovered by the ornate front desk. “Those witches didn’t look like they were in any hurry to leave. Besides, you’re ravenous; we can have lunch while we wait and accomplish two goals in the same amount of time.”

The elegant restaurant was very large and filled with patrons, and although the nearest tables were some distance from the entry their occupants had looked up curiously at the entrance of Draco and Hermione.  Now the dining room had gone from the usual hum of voices and clinking of crystal, silver, and china to an almost dead silence. A quick, furtive glance from behind the curls falling over the side of her face proved her suspicions correct: not only had they been noticed, but they were now the focus of most of the patrons. People were shifting in their chairs to watch their interaction and the unmistakable buzz of whispered gossip began. 

_ Oh, sweet and benevolent Circe have mercy on me and smite my enemies with a satisfying amount of force. _ Hermione had assiduously avoided vacuous publicity since her entry into the wizarding world. After the war she’d hidden away at school during the summer and Christmas holidays because she wanted to  _ forget _ the very things reporters found most fascinating; well, that and the fact that they never seemed to quote her accurately. She was quite certain there would  _ never _ be a time she craved attention outside of academia, and yet here she found herself once again in the unenviable spot of being associated with a celebrity.  _ Two of them _ ,  _ actually _ ;  _ one of whom is currently hiding from his fanwitches. I’m going to wring his good-looking neck. _

She quickly channeled her elder husband, schooling her features into a mask of confident amusement even as she hissed from between smiling lips, “ _ Draco _ , we are  _ not _ having lunch here. We  _ agreed _ to go  _ home _ .”

His expression mirrored hers in a practiced way as he paused to stoop low and admonish quietly but sternly, “Hermione, do  _ not _ use my  _ name _ ! Someone will  _ notice _ .”

“You’re absolutely right,  _ Albus Dumbledore _ ,” she deadpanned, barely turning her head toward where her tall husband still hunched down to her level, “because no one will recognize us just so long as we keep our mouths shut. We need to leave.  _ Now _ .”

“Give me three minutes and I’ll see what I can do.” When she hesitated he pushed, “You  _ owe _ me that much from earlier.”

“I owe you  _ nothing _ but a good swift kick in the pants.” At his beseeching look she reluctantly amended, “You may have  _ one _ .”

Draco had been moving them forward during their entire murmured conversation until they stood directly in front of the  maître d'hôtel, forcing Hermione to bite her tongue for the moment. He focused a devastating amount of charm on the deferential wizard and spouted something rapidly in French. 

Within seconds they were passed along to a waiter and ushered through a side door, down a winding hallway, and into a tiny private dining room. He and Draco exchanged a few courteous words and then he was gone with a flourish.

For the past minute Hermione had cooperated under the assumption that Draco was securing them a way out of the restaurant and now she rounded on her husband just as he relaxed his firm hold around her waist to draw out her chair. “ _ We are not eating here! We are going home this instant!” _

Draco frowned. “We most certainly  _ will _ be eating here because we are  _ unable _ to get home at present. You’re hungry and I intend to care for your needs. It’s part of our  _ wedding vows _ , Hermione.”

His reproving tone was like a flame to her already her simmering ire. In an increasingly shrill voice she countered, swatting his chest with her flowers with every word, “Don’t you  _ dare _ make this about me, Draco Hyperion! This is about  _ you _ not summoning the guards before we left and then  _ your _ fanwitches! And I do  _ not _ need  _ you _ to take care of me!”

Within her she could feel the amused interest of the Malfoy covenant increase tenfold; had she been forced to describe its current state to a casual observer she would have said it was as though the sentient magic was watching its family much like a Muggle movie, complete with tub of buttered popcorn.

Draco looked as though he were about to laugh for one fleeting moment, but at her feral snarl a stricken look settled over his aristocratic young features. “Oh, Merlin; it’s happening, isn’t it!”

“If by ‘it’ you mean an act of justifiable homicide then yes,” she began, but his unexpected dejection caused Hermione to withdraw her weaponized bouquet. “Errrrrr . . . what?”

Draco’s face drooped mournfully. “We’re having our first fight.”

She inhaled deeply, breathing in the soothing scent of her roses and fully aware of the irony.  _ That’s twice already Lucius has rescued him this morning, and he doesn’t even know it. _ “Draco,  _ believe me _ . When we have our first fight there will be skillfully administered,  _ painful  _ hexing involved.”  Another thought occurred to her and she added curiously in a slightly more civilized tenor, “I thought you didn’t speak French.” She swept a few stray rose petals from the lapels of his fine suit jacket with a brisk, businesslike hand.

Draco gestured to her chair, and the mundane action was so graceful it distracted Hermione further. She sank down onto it and allowed him to push her to the table and drop a napkin on her lap.

“ _ All _ Malfoys speak French, little witch,” he murmured soothingly as he filled her water glass.

“But you agreed to the need for an Interpretor charm when Fleur was with us.” She glared up to where he was now lowering himself into the chair opposite her. “I’m not done yelling at you, by the way. You’re still an enormous idiot.” Truthfully, the logic of his argument to have lunch whilst waiting for the fanwitches to disperse was gaining favor with her, especially since she really was famished.  _ Not that he needs to know. _

“I prefer to keep conversations in one language; had you also been speaking French I would have needed no charm. As it was, things were a bit confusing.”

_ I’ll have to learn French this summer. _ “Hmmmph.”

The waiter returned after clearing his throat loudly from behind the partially closed door and there ensued another rapid-fire dialogue during which Hermione applied her mastery of Classical Latin in an attempt to interpret at least part of it. In the end she merely amended her previous mental note:  _ I may need a modern French lexicon.  _ As the waiter left, that thought was derailed by another. “Why didn’t the waiter seat me or pour my water? That’s  _ his _ job.”

It was Draco’s turn to become incensed. Eyes dark, he growled, “You’ll not be approached by  _ any _ male without my permission or Lucius’, and no employee of any decent wizarding establishment would even attempt such a thing!”

Had she been angry with her younger husband before? Had her vision ever been tinged with such a thick haze of red? She jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over in the process. “How dare you! I am not a possession to be guarded, Draco! I belong to  _ no one _ !”

It appeared the younger Malfoy wizard was rethinking his words. Passing a hand through his pale hair in an agitated motion he swallowed thickly and stood as well. “Hermione, sweetheart – I . . .” He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Forgive me, I beg of you. I don’t know what came over me just then.”

Hermione’s mouth opened of its own accord, a slew of angry words ready to fall from her tongue. She drew a deep breath to begin her tirade, only to once again inhale the bewitching fragrance of her roses. It brought back a rush of recent memories, not the least of which was her melodramatic storming from Lucius after his crass remark in the formal gardens only days before.  _ I have a right to be angry at Draco’s manipulative schemes, but he doesn’t deserve to be belittled. And it won’t make me feel better; not for long, anyway. _ She sighed. “This isn’t going to work.”

He looked up at her, his eyes still dark but now tinged with a grief so deep it caused Hermione’s heart to clench painfully. “Please;  _ please _ don’t say that! I’ll do  _ anything _ .” He added in a tight whisper, “Don’t leave me.”

A mental push from the family magic sent an image of a tiny, blond, motherless boy to mind, and then another of the same boy, this time older and watching his bespoke witch set her sights on another wizard for years on end.  _ Mother of magic, he thinks I’m going to . . .  _ Her anger ebbed and she went to him, reaching up to cup his cheeks in her hands. “Draco, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to say that my hot temper and your possessiveness are only adding fuel to the flames of our disagreement.” When that didn’t appease him she continued, “Nobody is leaving anyone. For one thing, I rather enjoy having a good verbal sparring partner. For another, I never quit anything; I’m far too stubborn. Now please stop your moping.” To the suddenly obliging covenant she added internally,  _ Finally! It’s about time you put down the popcorn and helped out. _

He looked down at her morosely. “I angered you; worse, I spoke as though I owned you.”

Hermione tried again. She herded him back to his chair and pushed him down onto it, then sank into his lap. Curling her arms around his neck she said softly, “I haven’t been exactly nice to you since we got into this pickle. All you’ve wanted to do from the start is have a nice, normal lunch date with me and I’ve been both impatient and intolerant of your social condition.”

Draco leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “I’m sorry, little witch.”

“Yes, well; I guess I am, too.” She brushed a solitary rose petal from where it clung to the folds of his silk pocket-handkerchief.

“Wait, did you just say I have a ‘social condition’?” He opened his eyes marginally to gaze at her in a challenging way.

So many quips to make, and so many barbed remarks! Hermione bit her tongue, choosing to employ it instead in a kiss designed to distract her young husband completely. Mouths moved in that sensual push-pull of lips and playful rub of tongues until limbs twined around torsos and Draco finally –  _ finally! –  _ found the side-zipper of her frock. Just as he was sliding his hand into the resulting opening, however, there was another loud knock at the door. They broke their kiss with shared breaths of frustrated laughter. 

“Why did I ever think going out without the guards was a good idea?” Draco called for the waiter to come back in a few minutes and stole another sweet, lingering kiss. “They could have kept that annoying man away as long as we wanted.”

Hermione ruffled her young husband’s soft, pale hair, giving him a peck on the lips as she stood to her feet. “ _ We _ are going to  _ eat _ , my love. Now summon that annoying man at once.” She made a show of fastening her dress and smoothing the lovely fabric over her breasts and stomach. “That  _ is _ what you’ve wanted from the start; isn’t that right?”

His eyes were glued to the motion of her hands as he groaned, “Oh, yesssssssss.” And when she stopped her seduction abruptly, righted her chair and plopped down across from him once more, he blinked several times as if awakening from a Confundus charm. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Fulfill your wedding vows: feed your Wife.” She smirked and narrowed her eyes in playful warning, mentally cataloging the effectiveness of her previous actions.  _ I wonder how much control I have over him, exactly. _ It seemed like an excellent area for qualitative research, which would undoubtedly conclude in relief from the pleasurable but ever increasing ache deep in her gut. The thought had her squirming in her seat.

During her internal monologue Draco had sprung into action, summoning the waiter and ordering what sounded like an inordinate amount of food. Hermione opened her mouth to protest just as her stomach growled again.  _ Actually, I’m starving. Who knew that sex could produce such an appetite?  _ In an automatic gesture her hands began toying with the cloth napkin in her lap.  _ And I’ve seen Draco eat; perhaps I should suggest we order MORE. _ She jumped when something brushed against her ankle, interrupting her musings. The waiter was gone and Draco was leaning over the small table toward her, his strong chin propped up by one well-shaped hand. He was watching her with a lopsided, rather goofy smile on his face as he played footsie with her under the table.

“Nervous, Mrs. Malfoy?” His eyes dropped down to where she was winding the napkin around one hand. “If you’re able to hold on just a minute I’ll have a glass of champagne to trade for that poor, tortured napkin.”

Once more that wild, sweet,  _ mostly _ innocent emotion that only Draco had ever evoked welled up within her. He was remembering the Slytherin party, she realized, just as he remembered every moment, every conversation of their courtship. Had she understood Pureblood tradition and known Draco Malfoy at all before her accidental engagement to him – known how his mental capacity rivaled her own, how his personality complimented hers so well, how he was capable of such deep feeling – she still would not have hesitated to take her war stake from the Headmaster’s manipulative hands!  _ He’s my bespoken one, and I’m his. _ The thought brought unexpected tears to her eyes and a sob from deep in her throat. Suddenly the napkin in her hands was needed for something else entirely and she cried freely into it. She jumped again, this time because Draco had left his chair to kneel beside her.

He wrapped protective arms around her, shushing her softly between kisses pressed to the top of her head. “Hermione, sweetheart; what on earth’s wrong? Are you ill?” His concern only fed the emotional surge, and finally he pulled away enough to hold her teary face in his hands. “Please let me help.”

“I just realized what ‘bespoke’ really means, and it was such an overwhelming feeling!” She managed to swallow a hiccupping sob. “I’m sorry; it must be hormones. I’d forgotten it’s nearly that time of the month.”

Draco’s expression morphed into one of horror and he slowly released his hold on her. “I don’t need to know.”

His discomfort struck her as incredibly amusing, the abrupt emotional swing giving further credence to her theory. When she began giggling through her tears almost hysterically Draco returned to his seat looking somewhat mystified. Eventually she composed herself. A minor beauty charm would have been an excellent thing to have at her disposal, but in light of the current moratorium on all things magical she settled for dipping a corner of her napkin in her water glass and cleaning the salt-stains from her face. “All better.”

Draco was still regarding her as one would a dangerous magical creature when the waiter returned with the first course. The table was laden with a tray of prepared oysters, freshly baked bread, and a bottle of champagne resting in an ice bucket. No sooner had the last item been set down than the man disappeared once more.

“Oh, these look  _ very _ nice.” Draco was already sliding an oyster onto his plate.

“Draco, it’s perfectly nat-”

“Have some champagne,” he interrupted smoothly, filling her flute. When she opened her mouth to continue he added, “We are  _ not _ talking about anything hormone-related.  _ Ever. _ ”

_ This is what comes from not having a woman in the manor for nineteen years _ , Hermione mused inwardly as she accepted the glass and tasted the pale, crisp bubbly beverage.  __ She tried again. “It’s a very basic part of human reproduc-”

“For the love of Merlin, Hermione! I am  _ begging _ you to change the subject.”

“Oh,  _ fine _ .” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, watching as his tensed shoulders relaxed marginally. Choosing the first random subject that came to mind she offered, “I had an interesting conversation with the covenant last night.” 

Draco had been in the act of slurping an oyster with his usual combination of elegance and informality. He inhaled sharply at her words and began making the unmistakable sounds of a person choking.

“Arms up in the air,” she instructed. “Your airway is obstructed. Put them- Oh, for Circe’s sake . . .” Hermione got up and went to stand behind him, positioning her hands in preparation for the Heimlich maneuver. “Ready?” She brought her hands inward and upward abruptly in practiced competence, noting with satisfaction when he audibly regurgitated the offending oyster partway and then swallowed it with an even louder gulp.

He coughed several times and then, when he had regained his composure after a few sips of water, looked up solemnly to where she still stood. “Hermione, you have the most disconcerting way of shocking me without even realizing you’re doing so.” He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her down onto his lap. “I hope you never stop.”

Predicting a maudlin trajectory for the conversation, the young Wife quickly steered them elsewhere. “Unless you’re  _ trying _ to set off another hormone-induced crying jag . . .” 

The unfinished statement, paired with a meaningfully raised eyebrow, had the desired effect. Draco’s face went through a rapid, comical series of expressions, ending in the same fearful look he’d worn a few minutes ago, and Hermione continued with a laugh, “I was telling you about the covenant.” She wrestled her way out of his arms and rounded the table to her own chair. “I spoke with it again last night.”

Draco paused in the act of choosing another oyster from the tray and raised his pale grey eyes to hers. “You mean to say you had a  _ dream _ about it.”

“No, we  _ talked _ .” She picked up her roll and attacked it hungrily, allowing her husband time to accept that fact.  _ How unsettling it must be for him,  _ she thought _ , to have known of the family magic all his life without realizing the scope of its sentience. _ _ Why on earth do Purebloods not research their own heritage? _

Meanwhile Draco had eaten two oysters in a distracted way and was now tearing a roll into small pieces. “I thought what happened at our wedding ceremony was an anomaly.”

Hermione reached across the table and tried to nab some of the torn bread from Draco’s plate. “That was actually the second time I’d spoken to it.” At his look of astonishment she reasoned, “It . . .  _ likes _ me, I suppose.”

He shook his head with a fond smile. “I honestly don’t know why I’m surprised, sweetheart; after all, you’re the brightest witch of the age. Tell me about last night.” He playfully batted her hand away and then stretched his long arm to feed her a piece. He took an enormous bite of roll and looked at her expectantly.

“Not while you have food in your mouth, I won’t.” She waited until he had swallowed before continuing cautiously, “It had a message for me. From the Fallen Four.”

Draco set down his roll with a self-conscious smirk. “Just to be on the safe side.” Then, as if he had only just processed her statement his eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

Quickly she recounted every detail of the cryptic message from the lost covenants, from the plea itself, to the Malfoy magic’s reference to the Matriarch’s runes, to the fact that they seemed to have been waiting for  _ her _ . “What do you think?” When he only continued staring at her she prodded him with an oyster fork. “Draco?”

“I’m sorry, I was just . . .” He pursed his lips for a moment. “Surely such a thing is impossible.”

“I was asking what you think it  _ means _ .” Hermione’s stomach rumbled and she stole another piece of Draco’s shredded roll. She glanced at the remaining two oysters, looking away quickly in distaste. Waiting for the next course seemed like a more palatable choice.

Draco was regarding her earnestly now. “You must understand; the covenants may have been created to bind powerful unions and perpetuate those lineages originally, but in time their power and influence began extending far beyond. Their existence affects our entire world, and its balance has shifted with the fall of each House.”

“What exactly do they influence? How can our world be affected by twenty-eight magically created entities? How has the balance shifted? Why wouldn’t the covenants have found someone else to help them before now?” She gestured for him to on, wishing she had a quill and parchment.

“I don’t pretend to have studied it; not many do outside of Aberforth Dumbledore. And he’s not even a Pureblood, so who’s to say how much he actually knows? Maybe the covenants aren’t meant to be understood.” He broke eye contact with her to eat another oyster. “What I do know is this: if the Fallen Four could be restored, our world would be that much more stable.”

Hermione gave her young husband a condescending smile. “ _ Everything _ is meant to be understood, Draco; that’s what  _ research _ is for. It sounds like I’ll be inviting Aberforth Dumbledore over for tea and research sometime in the near future.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Oh, but this is going to tie in  _ nicely _ with my study of Pureblood mores and the Malfoy family!” She made a mental note to recruit Beetle as project historian the moment they got home.

“ _ You’re _ going to restore the  _ Fallen Four _ .  _ My _ extraordinary Wife is going to change my entire world in yet another way. It’s your destiny, you realize.” Draco was leaning toward her over the small table, an adoring light in his eyes. “This was written in the stars before you were ever born.”

“That’s putting it a bit melodramatically. It’s funny, though; a few weeks ago I would have scoffed at that idea,” she mused thoughtfully. “Now I’m not so sure. Just because we  _ choose _ to do something doesn’t mean the choice wasn’t predestined. I wonder . . . ” She let the sentence trail off unfinished, unable to phrase the nebulous thoughts hovering just out of the reach of her brain’s language processing center.

Draco reached for the last oyster and paused. “Hermione, you haven’t had  _ one _ of these excellent oysters! Here, this one is yours.” He picked it up and stretched across the table to hold it in front of her mouth. 

Hermione pinched her lips together, wrinkling up her nose in distaste. “Mmmm-mmm.”

“You’ve been hungry since we left the manor and yet you’ve only eaten bread. These are far more satisfying.” He held it to her lips, adding cockily, “Very good for the libido as well.”

Hermione tried to evade Draco’s long reach, mumbling through clenched teeth, “No, thank you!”

As if he had been issued a challenge Draco smirked confidently and rose from his chair to return to his previous kneeling position beside her chair, the oyster pressed to her lips the entire time. “Come on, little witch. Try it.”

She’d had one as a child at her father’s encouragement and the memory was dim but definitely unpleasant. The salty, slippery thing had been far too big for her mouth, an alien amalgamation of firm and yielding. “ _ Mmmm-mmm. _ ”

Draco leaned in and crooned, “Open, sweetheart.” He pulled the oyster away and leaned yet closer, breathing against her lips. “Here, taste how good it is.” He pressed his lips to hers, sweeping his tongue over the seam of her lips.

Hermione opened for him automatically, only realizing her mistake when her mouth was inundated with the taste of the sea. But Draco’s talented tongue was teasing hers, confusing her former opinion with its push-pulls. Had she really hated that first oyster as a child? Now she wasn’t sure. The taste had quickly become part of this sinful kiss! She pushed her own tongue into her husband’s mouth, aggressively studying the subtle flavor.

He broke the kiss, much to her disappointment, and brought the oyster to her mouth once more. “Hermione,” his eyes had darkened to a stormy grey and his voice had taken on an even darker tone, “be a good girl and open for me.”

_ Good sweet Circe, this is food sex. _ Her body, which had forgotten its previous thrum of want during their conversation, responded to that idea and Draco’s dominance instantly. She sensed her lips parting of their own volition, felt the fluted edge of the shell slide in, tasted the rush of brine, and all the while she watched Draco watching her mouth with those wild eyes.  _ And I like it. _

He was stroking her bottom lip in a coaxing way with the tip of one long finger. His free hand tugged her head back by a handful of curls, and then his face moved out of her direct vision until his mouth was pressed against her ear. “I’m going to fill your mouth and you’re going to like it, Princess. And when I tell you to do so, you’ll chew and swallow like a good girl. Are you ready?”

Hermione nodded, body pulsing with desire. She squirmed in her chair again, causing Draco to chuckle darkly. Without warning he tipped the oyster into her mouth and set down the shell, bringing his hand back to her jaw to push her mouth closed.  _ It tastes like a kiss,  _ she told herself.

Draco swallowed thickly, eyes dropping to heavy-lidded half-mast as he murmured, “You look so pretty with your mouth full, Princess. Chew and swallow, please.”

She managed to obey the order, focusing on the memory of the same taste on Draco’s lips and tongue. She repeated her mantra over and over for four hesitant chews and a hasty swallow. Draco was still watching intently when she grimaced spectacularly a second later. “Blech! Argh! Aaaagh! That was  _ every _ bit as awful as I remembered!” She picked up her champagne flute and gulped the beverage down after swishing it around her mouth vigorously. “It did  _ not _ taste like a kiss!”

Draco was obviously trying not to laugh at her antics. “I guess you really don’t like oysters.” He leaned in and stole a quick kiss. “I quite enjoyed that until you started pulling faces.”

“It was fun until I had to squish it with my teeth,” she snorted, leaning her head on his shoulder. She nuzzled her nose against his neck “Now you’ve got me all wound up again, you idiot.”

Just then there was a loud knock on the door of their little private dining room. Draco hummed his agreement, the long forefinger of one hand tracing the shape of her mouth. “Then it’s a good thing I plan to feed you the rest of your lunch, Mrs. Malfoy.”

  
  


It turned out consommé celestiné wasn’t nearly as erotic as those hideous oysters had been and even though Hermione sat on Draco’s lap, one arm looped around his shoulders, she fed herself and they talked of far more innocent things. Eventually their playful conversation turned back to their courtship.

Rolling her eyes over how often she’d been in a state of complete ignorance she said, “And even when I was  _ finally _ given access to potential study material, it turned out to be erotica! Yes, Draco,” she clarified, “the Malfoy Wife diaries – at least judging by the one I’ve read so far – are nothing but steamy, smut-filled accounts of courtship and early marriage from cover to cover! It was  _ hardly _ fact based!”

“I’m sure the smut was  _ very _ factual.” He seemed to be finding this entirely too amusing. “Do you mean to say you were forced to read a book you didn’t  _ like _ ?!”

Had she ever read a book cover to cover that she didn’t like?  _ Well, there was that one Divination textbook . . . _ “No, of  _ course _ not! I respect myself  _ far _ too much to read something unless I enjoy it.”

“So you enjoy reading erotica.” The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched slightly, although his silvery eyes retained their serious expression. It was a  _ very _ good look for him.

“That’s not what I said at all, Draco! Oooh, you!” Giggling, she gave him a swat on the shoulder for good measure.

There followed a lull in which they finished their soup and sat contentedly in each other’s arms for a few minutes. Finally Hermione turned so that her nose brushed Draco’s jaw. “I’m going to write one, you know, only it won’t be a torrid read. It’ll be a definitive reference work for all future Malfoy Wives.”

Draco pouted down at her. “Will it at least have  _ some _ smut? Because the past two and a half weeks has been filled with some of the greatest unresolved sexual tension and then mind-blowing sex the world has ever known.  _ I’d _ read about it.”

“I want it to be a lesson on the family magic and social protocol.” She warmed to the subject, adding enthusiastically, “It should cover each ceremony in detail; well, except for the parts that should really be left as a surprise. I mean, to be honest there were things I’m glad I didn’t know ahead of time. It would have made me even more of a nervous wreck.” She paused. “Huh. Hindsight is like a magnifying glass, sometimes. And  _ no _ ; no smut.”

“Hermione,” Draco argued, his handsome features set in sincerity, “You’re going to lose a large share of your readership if you don’t add at least  _ some _ of the wicked things we’ve done. Sex sells; take it from me.”

She opened her mouth to make a pithy comeback and thought better of it. _He does have some knowledge in this area, given his fandom . . ._ _Wait a minute!_ “To whom, exactly, would I be selling it?! There _is_ no readership outside the House of Malfoy! And do you _really_ want to go down that path, _EBC_?” She would have continued but just at that moment there was a loud knock on the door, signaling the entry of the next course. 

Hermione rose quickly and returned to her own seat just as the waiter entered. Normally, she assumed, the courses would have been prepared and served with the aid of magic; even so the service was so smooth one hardly noticed its absence. Soup bowls were replaced with artfully plated poached salmon with sauce mousseline and chilled cucumbers. No sooner had the waiter exited, shutting the door behind him, than Hermione set to.

“Mother of all magic, real food at last!” She ignored Draco’s attempts to lure her back to his side of the table, instead attacking the small serving ravenously. “Do you know what sells even better?” she managed between bites. “ _ Food _ , Draco. Gods, but I love food.” 

He returned to their original conversation, his tone regretful. “ _ Whom _ will you be competing against? I’ll tell you  _ who _ : every other Malfoy Wife who’s written a page-turner of a diary. It’s a shame, really; the world’s sexiest brain is going to write something definitive and no one but the Malfoy Wives will ever know.”

It was quite possible her cunning young husband was setting a snare for her, but her ego blinded her to the danger. He was right! Here she was, planning to write a marvelous piece of research that would no doubt be worthy of expensive dragonhide binding, and only a miniscule percentage of the world would ever know of her genius in this area. And not every Malfoy Wife might find a textbook-style approach enjoyable! “Oh.” The monosyllabic utterance sounded disappointed even to her own ears. “Well, maybe I could include a  _ bit _ of smut. Just a light sprinkling to keep academically disinclined future Wives engaged.”

“I think that’s a wise decision.” Draco looked as though he were considering something and finally offered in a musing tone, “You could, I suppose, follow the magical tradition of publishing your story in the Muggle world.”

Hermione could do nothing but blink in shock for the space of five seconds. Had she heard her Pureblood husband correctly?  _ Tell _ the Muggle world about the magical one? “Errrrrr . . . Whaaaah?”

He waved his fish-laden fork in a gracefully dismissive gesture. “Of course you’d have to change a few details and label it as fiction, but it’s been done countless times. The Grimm brothers are the most obvious examples, although there’s a witch currently publishing a grossly modified account of the second wizarding war under the guise of children’s literature.” He laughed. “I even have a place in it as a sort of villain! It’s been quite successful so far.”

“But . . . but someone will  _ find out _ ! We have laws in place to prevent this kind of thing!” Her brain tore off in the opposite direction mid-thought. “ _ How _ successful?”

“There are no laws against the writing of fiction. As for the Muggles, they’ll never guess the truth,” he argued confidently, “because to them our world is so fantastically unbelievable. We’re the stuff of fairy-tales, sweetheart. Now please come back and sit with me; I miss you terribly.”

_ Only they’re not fairy-tales; they’re our people’s history. It’s true what they say: truth is stranger than fiction.  _ Hermione returned to Draco’s lap absently and remained lost in thought through the entire next course, opening her mouth automatically to Draco’s proffered bites and completely unaware of the smug smile he wore the entire time. 

It was dessert, a plate of four beautifully dipped chocolate truffles, which finally pulled her from her reverie. She gave a low moan of pleasure just as Draco pulled the tray out of her reach. 

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not done feeding you,” he laughed as she fought his strong grip. “Be a good little witch and sit still!”

Still struggling Hermione half-laughed, half-growled, “Give me my  _ chocolate _ , Draco!”

He only tightened his hold and grinned down at her unrepentantly. “Be  _ nice _ , Hermione.”

Her prodigious brain jumped ahead several moves in the conversation, chose a course of strategy, and rated its chances of success fairly high.  _ Oh, I’ll see your ‘good’ and raise you a ‘better’. _ Biting back a smug smirk she looked up at her unsuspecting husband through her lashes. “Yes, Draco,” she acquiesced meekly, relaxing in his arms. 

What followed next could only have been described as chocolate-coated revenge. Draco fed Hermione – oh, yes. He pushed the decadent dessert between her lips and pulled it away in a sensual, teasing rhythm of dominance. Hermione submitted to his seduction, opening her mouth to her husband’s sweet assault obediently. In fact to the unobservant spectator (had there been one) it would have appeared that Draco had the upper hand. 

_ This _ would have been a misapprehension, for Hermione was waging an offensive strike of her own. Every lap of her tongue, every nibble of her teeth, every noise she made was done for the express purpose of turning the tables on the younger Malfoy wizard. Never had Hermione eaten anything so slowly nor in such a filthy manner. 

Halfway through the first truffle Draco’s eyes became heavy-lidded. Halfway through the second his mouth dropped wide open and the arm wrapped around her tightened reflexively. At the end of the third he shifted beneath her in his seat and swallowed thickly. And as she wantonly sucked the vestiges of the last truffle from his fingers Draco whimpered. Hermione released her suction on his forefinger with a loud, wet sound and looked up at him innocently. “Thank you for feeding me, Draco.”

For the span of several seconds the only noise in that opulent private room was the sound of Draco’s heavy breathing but finally he managed a hoarse, “Please have mercy, little witch.”

Hermione was gracious in victory. She pressed a chocolate-flavored kiss to her husband’s mouth and pretended as though she hadn’t just brought him to his knees. “I think you’re absolutely right about the smut, my love,” she said generously. “It will hold the attention of a much wider audience.”  _ And I’ll be sure to include this part. _

  
  
  
  



End file.
